The Silent Watch

The salt crusts thick on the shattered glass, where the great lamp used to hum its lonely note. Below, the sea still hurls its grey shoulders against the stubborn basalt spine.

No ships seek this jagged coast anymore, they follow quiet wires drawn through the deep. The keeper's brass is dull, tarnished by the mist, his logs dissolving into pale, damp pulp.

Yet when the storm breaks the horizon in two, the empty tower still stands rigid, a hollow finger pointing into the dark, waiting for a spark that will not come.