Like a Butterfly

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She lived her life like a butterfly, and all I could do was wave as she flew across the sky beneath the light of the moon, reflected off the noonday sun, she flew like a butterfly, and I used to chase her, not understanding her path and that the way to her heart was to step back and marvel at how she moved through space, just like a butterfly. Her beauty was in her flight and how she never quite landed, nor was she ever stranded, because the beauty was in her movement, unfettered and free, not handled, not constrained by me, nor understood, but held in the embrace of letting go of what I thought I knew and what I know of her, because the beauty is in the flight and how she moved, just like a butterfly past heartaches, mountains and dreams and the schemes of a boy who still rows his boat merrily down streams, chasing dreams and butterflies.