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?