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?