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?