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?