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?