The Seventh Plague: the Hail

Intermediate things have always caused you to shake, Sephorah,
Hail, for example - neither a raindrop nor a snowflake,
Not even a raindrop and a snowflake together.

You are alone between fire and ice,
My Sephorah.

They are not pearly garlands that hang in the heavens
But ropes with hailstone spines,
Enticed by my wooden staff
With the fiery snakes of lightning,
Scorching like blind passion.

The barley in the sheaves is scorched and withered
As is the flax which just bloomed,

But not the wheat that endures and is late to ripen
Nor your invincible core,
My Sephorah.