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?