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?