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?