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?