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?