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?