Burning ships

A county contained within America like a fire in the sun, clock hands run their fingers across glass yearning to touch the tears of dreamers that are like photographs. Over Hempstead county the moon's eyes are like burning ships, two hundred ghosts clamour for lifeboats-clouds, hearts intermingle with stars on sails. The subtle echoing of two hundred years worth of tales are whispered by stars on flags to those waiting to be born. Flags- tongues of ghosts of slaves, wind makes contact with forgotten graves, spirits see faces reflected in blood collected in the moon's tracks as it cries the last light that entered their eyes.