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?