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?