Eight Feng Shui Postcards

 A.V. Christie


All day with the remote

I move between birdsong

and surf, surf and birdsong


The fishtank softly bubbles,

bringing its fortune. The wind goes

all angles against the house.


The trees are hung with rain.


We've too many windows to doors, that ratio,

too many voices and mouths open—

a constant arguing, drafts.


I have forewarnings.

I have lemon rind.

I have the colors leaves turn.


In the shine of my eye

I am the River Dragon's bride,

a slow walk into water


How to place ourselves

in the shadows certain mountains cast,

their dialects of blessing


How to bring river light somehow

through traffic and into our palms.


Dear Master, I believe

we are looking for happiness.

Please to make the moments lead there.


Help our quiet hearts last

out their dynasties of suffering.