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?