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?