Easy as pie,
Pulling cherries from the sky
Where the trees blossom in Spring and hang
Their two by two cherry fruits.

You hang with me all these years,
A blink for time ripened.
A hop scotch for woman and man
As a peasant tread in an urban, urbane ubiquity.

But we are not everywhere.
Only here for now
But remember how we came
Upon the Summer
With our babies and bar b cues
And the streaming sun like water.

By Rolf Stavig
8-12-2023