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?