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?