2. An Ark

“An ark, an ark! I must construct an ark!”

Obsessively, my inner voice demands

Of me with such unusual commands

That some strange accent animates its bark—

A Pomeranian in an Indian park

And not the Central European lands

In which by all too eager human hands

Its form was shaped, for sport or for some lark.

It is for sure an alien this speech

That bubbles up from deep within my brain,

Some cuckoo parasite from ages past

Bred into me by those who chose to teach

The words of prophets, blessed or insane,

Whose hooks reach farther than when they were cast.