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?