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?