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?