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?