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?