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?