Poetry by Maureen Wilkinson

Chinese Fortune Fish

This is where we watch for fish.
Where the trees step back,
and the stream loops, lucid and slow,
into a long unscrolling of clouds.
Cloud pale water pages for the quick
Chinese brushwork fish to write our fortunes
in brown trout hieroglyphics;
swimming unsayable words,
whose parallel meaning is lucky.
Surely lucky?  For today a single fish, snoozing the current,
motionless as a hawk,
its body's breath a backwards Y of water,
signed me slow motion magic. 
Dear Good Fortune Trout
bask on in the pool of my eye.   Shall I soon receive
fame, or love,
or just enormous wealth?

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