Horse Chestnut in Winter

in mem. St John of the Cross

Once burgeoning branches yield now to a late season,

hang empty of candle prayer.

Bare beauty of the intrinsic frame

etched upward to an unyielding sky.

So he, spring past and wintered down

to the mere frame, his beauty bare.

Lean arms of faith yearn

upward, name the dark question

of an unanswering sky.