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?