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?