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?