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?