أخصائي نفسي

Ah, grief, I should not treat you 
like a homeless dog 
who comes to the back door 
for a crust, for a meatless bone. 
I should trust you.

I should coax you 
into the house and give you 
your own corner, 
a worn mat to lie on, 
your own water dish.

You think I don't know you've been living 
under my porch. 
You long for your real place to be readied 
before winter comes. You need 
your name, 
your collar and tag. You need 
the right to warn off intruders, 
to consider my house your own 
and me your person 
and yourself 
my own dog.