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?