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?