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?