The sea is lead tonight, the sky hangs far too low. I climb the tower before dusk, as if I could prevent something. The clock ticks like an accusation. Seagulls cry out names I don’t recognize as mine. The horizon breathes slowly. I ask myself where I slipped. At what moment I left the switch. If the night arrived too early, was I the one who fell asleep? If a wave broke in the wrong direction, was I the one who forgot? I forgot to turn the light on. I left it in the dark. I let the sea swallow the way when I closed my eyes too long. I forgot to turn the light on, and in the morning I count the damage. If someone drifted into night, it happened because of me. I write reports to shadows, apologize to the wind. I hear timber splitting in waves that don’t exist. The tower breathes steadily, as if it doesn’t need me. But I need someone to blame, and I am the easiest choice. I turn my back to the sea, but it stays behind my eyes. Each night the same question: did I leave the switch untouched? I forgot to turn the light on. I left it in the dark. I let the sea swallow the way when I closed my eyes too long. I forgot to turn the light on, and in the morning I count the damage. If someone drifted into night, it happened because of me. Night arrives on time. The beam cuts through the dark. I never turned it on. It never waited for me. I thought I had forgotten the light. I believed it had gone dark. But it moved through the night without my hands at all. The sea kept its course without me. The tower never needed my touch. And the wrecks I feared lived only in my mind.
