Butterflies

My frustrations grow.

Quickly I make one furtive movement after the next.

New ways of searching for what is apparently an impossible result.

Damn I can’t find the butterflies.

I know that I have dozens and dozens of them.

I know that some are camouflaged in the bushes,

While others are in plain sight.

They were many variations of color and size

And each with their own distinct personalities

Are scattered among the hundreds of photo files on my computer

And I don’t know if I will ever find them again

And that I may have to rest with my memories

And let go of the butterflies of my past.