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?