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?