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?