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?