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?