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?