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?