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?