Dying tree in a desert is like a lighthouse as dreams crash against it, rain falls onto a secret police man's glass eye reflecting fire, burning floors collapse in buildings in the village a pregnant woman and her son have to leave-the moon rests on a track as a train containing sacks of grain passes them on there journey. Soil whispers to seeds, words on a page plead to an unborn baby for comprehension, rain drops freeze on a glass eye, conflicts cling to the earth, ringing echoes linger-an Irish famine. Wishes are refined as migrants gather to create new communities, their pens are learning to speak a new language that cannot be silenced -that of the land.
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