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?