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?