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?