how we all love hot weather
but the skies have to open up sometimes
and when they do
may the rain come down in cataracts
and lash us to the ground
may the storms rip through us
may the weak trees be pulled up by their roots
and the wind scare us senseless
forgive your artists their savage appetites
their barbaric temperments and tempestuous moods
forgive them their vision, wisdom, sanctity and truth
their turbulent relationships and untidy appearance
their refusal to compromise
their gentleness
their hard-loving ways
their tangled logic and unruly opinions
their beauty
their delirium
and their disrespect
for common, tepid answers.
© Hilary Peach 2010