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?