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?