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?