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?