Heavens Cracking

There is something about light
When it shatters the sky,
Splitting the blackened sea
With something holy.
For a moment,
I almost believe in angels—
Only when the dark
Is deep enough
To hold them.
There is a soft weight,
A quiet ache
That settles in the mist,
In whispers of rain,
Even in the ones
That fall like sorrow.
In the low trembles
Of the heavens,
In the voice
Of some ancient God
Stirring
In his sleep.

Are the angels singing,
Or are they weeping?
I never learned
How to tell
The two apart.