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?