Monsters

Nisaeg

Nisaeg

I surface, float awhile, take in the air,

the smells I pine for when I am below.

I crane my neck to see the bank, from where

the verdant hills begin their roll and flow.

O Scotland! Could I ever leave this shore -

ambrosial trees and bruised, dramatic skies?

My eyes desire no other. I adore

the Loch, it buoys me up, contains my sighs.

But there are those who’d seek to see us part;

I spot a figure lurking on the strand.

You wretched man. You shall not have my heart.

I am the Loch; you barely know the land.

I dive, withdraw into the murky deep;

Embraced in water’s arms, I find my sleep.

I hurl her photograph into the wind,

a sour mash of feelings in my chest.

A single molten drop of whisky, thinned

by tears, remains. I quickly down the rest.

Across the Loch, distilled from evening mists

I glimpse a form, a fin, and double-take.

The creature all the boat-guides claim exists -

Ye ken an-Niseag? - floating on the lake?

I fumble for my phone - my pocket rips -

but there’s no point. The shape is gone from sight

and yet I feel a smile trace my lips.

Another photograph I lost tonight.

Resolve, at last, matures my steeping mind;

I turn away and leave Loch Ness behind.