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?