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?