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?