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?