Ah,
Grief,
I should not treat youlike a homeless dogwho comes to the back doorfor a crust, for a meatless bone.
I should trust you.
I should coax youinto the house and give youyour own corner,a worn mat to lie on,your own water dish.
You think I don't know you've been livingunder my porch.
You long for your real place to be readiedbefore winter comes.
You needyour name,your collar and tag.
You needthe right to warn off intruders,to considermy house your ownand me your personand yourselfmy own dog.
