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?