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?