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?