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?