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?