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?