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?