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?