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?