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?