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?