The Keeper's Absence

The salt creeps up the spiral stairs where brass once gleamed under anxious hands, while the lantern room holds only the wind's breath and the ghosts of ships that never arrived.

Waves gnaw at the foundation stones, a slow communion of mortar and tide, as the ocean reclaims its stolen height layer by sedimentary layer.

No keeper strikes the match tonight. The horizon is a bruise of purple and slate, and the only beam is the cold, distant stare of a moon indifferent to the dark.