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?