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?