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?