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?