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?