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?