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?