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?