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?