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?