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?