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?