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?