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?