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?