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?