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?