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?