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?