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?