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?