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?