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?