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?