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?