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.