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?