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?