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?