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?