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?