Tempest

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It's storming, pounding out there. Rain breaks and falls like the mismatched halves of haloes. Luminescent drops arc above the wind's dips and joints. This is the division of virtues through their centers. Whole waters submit, are split and capped, sectioned like tangerines into mouth-shaped crescents and then auctioned into thunder. The rain marks its weight in deep forgiving streaks. The storm is tight around all things and in rope fingers of light water cracks into marbled, complex structures, less like a chandelier, hanging vows above our heads, than like the mezuzah we kiss when we step outside. It shelters a scrolled blessing against leaving God at home. We break Him into pieces and carry Him along.