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?