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?