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?