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?