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?