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?