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?