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?