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?