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?