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?