Inreach

There’s no gain in sitting

By a dry Fountain

Purporting love 

If the plumbing’s fucked

Or getting a up a warm blaze

In the cold ashes

Of cherished farmsteads

Forgiveness demands

A down payment

Bigger than that.

Washing the feet of those

Not yet able to put them

In your basin of blood

Would be a better start

Or else inclusion
Is just a delusion.