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?