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?