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?