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?