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?