At the commencement of Lent, the church I've been attending (via Zoom) began sending out daily devotionals. The following Poem hit my inbox as I sat sipping my coffee on a Friday morning 9 days ago. The Guest Washed into the doorwayby the wake of traffic,he wears humanitylike a third-hand shirt--blackened with enoughof Manhattan's dirt to sprouta tree, or poison one.His empty hand has led