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?