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?