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?