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?