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?