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?