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?