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?