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?