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?