Walking the back alleys along the river valley edge
I find I’m always drawn toward the flaking fence paint
the muted dusty blue of bygone skies across a garage door while the grey-rot white disappears into the oblivion of time
It is only after noticing the pull of decay that I realize I haven’t even thought about the valley to my right
the way it devours shopping carts and the cast off clothes of the homeless
the way all that God has made is good and I should offer praise for every little leaf we have not ruined
but I’ve given my praise away already
praise to the mural of an old pioneer fading away on a neighbour’s garage,
protected by the same fence that obscures it
praise to the workers restoring concrete in the strip mall parking lot
praise for the wafting smell of donairs so close to lunch time
praise for the old car half covered and rusting to her bolts
praise for the tired man who owns the car and will not let her be dishonored
praise for his little secret smiles on seeing the car some sunny Saturdays and planning to restore her
praise for the failing fences and the collected curiosities of the hoarder’s backyard
praise for the basketball net left here for a kid with full knowledge that it must be shared with every passer by
praise for all this broken wonder
is this not the song I have been singing all along?
Redeem! Redeem! Redeem!