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?