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?