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?