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?