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?