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?