Tenebris

There is a tree, by day,
That, at night,
Has a shadow,
A hand huge and black,
With fingers long and black.
   All through the dark,
Against the white man’s house,
   In the little wind,
The black hand plucks and plucks
   At the bricks.
The bricks are the color of blood and very small.
   Is it a black hand,
   Or is it a shadow?