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?