Endless Night Poem by Dwight Jenkins

The darkest poems are written in dead of night,
Come when pillow turns to Jacob's stone,
The only movement lonely branches twisting to 
Be free, yearning wildly to see their love,
The sun, return on the other side of night.
I am poem, I am light, I am 
Branch of rooted tree, I am everything I see
At three in the darkness from the tomb
Of my bed, listening to the calls of the dead
Through the medium of the oak tree
That roots all in hardness, and buries it there, where
Dirt and rock hold fast the edifice,
Despite wind and storm, rain and snow, deep down below
In the places you can't go until 
The old tree is finally overturned in a 
Wind that is too much, even for legends such as 
This. Only then will you feel the hole
That is starkly left at the last great upending,
The roots that so long  had silently
Spread far and wide to provide for the loving tree,
Now dangling helplessly in dark clods 
Of quivering dirt, waving goodbye in winds of
Endless change. Be not afraid: I am.