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?