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?