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?