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?