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?