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?