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?