This Ark Poem by Taylor Graham

The neighbors’ dogs bark-wag, furry
wet smell against my hand
at the latch. For another week
they’re mine. The cats stay out of sight.
A caged rabbit kicks shavings
as far as bunny-feet can.
The chickens go on scratching scratch.
A cote of doves coos not eternal love
but ever-falling rain on the roof.
The bristled sow’s content
to rummage plastic sacking.
Goats blaaah for human conversation.
The sheep don’t miss their mistress,
but only alfalfa hay. And then
the horses — the Arab flings his crested
head, trumpeting his name.
He drums a heel against his stall.
He outweighs me, hoof
to fingernail. And still the rain
falls on this barn of an ark, where we
drift together, far from shore.