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?