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?