Meditation at Dabney Ranch

by Michael Sofranko

This encounter with another’s strangeness
began a few years ago

when I discovered bored, terrified,
protective stares

coming from the goats and llamas
patrolling the edge

of a gate keeper’s electrified fence.

The dogwoods, gnarled and leaning
in the limestone field, entangled

with the bare mesquite.

It was another year
when no one figured out

why happiness is like moonlight

slippling into the bedroom,
staying only long enough to leave us

feeling we will find a way into the daylight
we always claimed we wanted.

This is a long sentence about love
we begin to write. It begins as nothing

but talk in a parking lot, then quickly fills

the over-heated car with steam.
Until we see nothing outside

of ourselves, just sitting there,
staring through the windshield,

where the future appears
in the turbulent sky we begin to breathe.