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?