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?