It stands where the map dissolves,
at the edge where certainty falters—
a hollow bell against the wind,
a watchman staring through the salt-thick dark.
The mariner knows its miasmic vow:
a pulse amid the blank expanse,
a promise bound in lantern flame
that fractures the silence of the tide.
History sleeps in its iron bones,
the breath of lost voyages pressed into its...
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