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?