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?