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?