Winds esker                
  
                                          
 There Was This Place  That For Two Years 
 I  Couldn'T Go To.  Regardless  How Much 
 Discussed With  Others,  Or  Pointed Out 
 On Maps,  I Could Not  Think  Of It When 
 Alone.  I Would  Often  Travel Past  The 
 Fork,  Where  A Right  Turn Would Surely 
 Take Me There,  But Even Then, Something 
               Kept Me Away.              
                                          
 When I  Finally  Got  There,  After Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,   The  Place  Was   Surreal.  An 
 Esker, Like  A  Needle-Thin Rift  Out In 
 The   Lake,  But  Ten  Meters  High  And 
 Adorned In  Birch, Willow,  Bracken, And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice The  View  To  Either Side. There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T Recognize  Them.  First Off, They 
 Were Much Too Close, As The Lake  Should 
 Stretch  For  A  Hundred Meters  More On 
 Both Sides.  But  Now  I  Felt  I  Could 
 Almost  Reach Out  And  Touch Them.  And 
 Then, When I Realized Which  Shores They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They  Were Of The Right  Lake.  But This 
      Lake Is Large, Fractured, And       
 Bipartite. Like  A Pair  Of Lungs Carved 
 Into The Granite,  And With No Less Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
     Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly    
 Understood Them As Belonging  Many Miles 
                   Away.                  
                                          
 I  Examined  The  Ridge,   The  Treeline 
 Above. Was This  What  You Saw Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                 Remember.                
                                          
 Carrying Forward,  On The  Very  Tip  Of 
 The  Esker, I  Found The  Ruins  Of Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
  Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath 
 The  Moss,  And Strange  Slabs  Inserted 
 Into  The  Slope  Like  Dams Against The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting There,  I  Could  See Across The 
 Narrowed Lake  My Entire Path To Where I 
 Sat:  From  The Stairwell  Of  My House, 
 Through  The Old  Woods Behind  The Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three And  Then  Back  Under  It, 
 Through  The  Fancy  Villas,  Over   The 
 Fields, And Then That Right  Turn At The 
                  Fork.                   
                                          
 And  Then The  Stairs Up  On The  Ridge. 
 Thinking  Back,  This  Was  Probably It. 
 Hidden In  A Grove,  There  Were  Stairs 
 Much  Like The Ones I  Currently Sat On, 
 Old And  Worn  Down,  That Lead  You  Up 
 Onto  The Esker. The Point Of Entry. Had 
 I Insted  Opted To  Walk The Path At Its 
 Foot,  I'M  Sure My Experience  Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On  The  Lake,  There  Were  People   In 
 Boats. I Wondered, Could They  Even  See 
 Me? If  I  Shouted,  Would They Turn  To 
          Stare Right Through Me?