Crosshairs on the Night Tide

I eased the copper spectacles down from my hair and rested them upright along the cedar sill of the stern porthole. Looking through the circular amber lens, the pitch-black ocean outside softened into a deep, honeyed gloom. When a slow swell rolled beneath the hull, a faint cluster of pale phosphorescence drifted past in the dark water, aligning right at the center of the etched crosshairs. I laid both cloth hands flat against the worn timber to keep the heavy frames from sliding with the rhythmic tilt, watching that quiet golden ember linger until the tide carried it away.