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?