Under late September skies
In the courtyard of Salon de The
The air is still, the sky is gray.
Pigeons line a clay red wall
A guitarist plays soft melodies.
Bachelor buttons push up through
The cracks in the brick
Periwinkle blue that daunts footfall.
It is a favored time of day
For I am collecting Mary Kate.
She passes through the iron gate
And on bended knee
Catches a butterfly in cupped hands.
Closes her eyes and makes a wish,
And then with open heart
Lets it free.
And I flashing think
That if salvation is a gift received
A memory is a moment held and believed.