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?