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?