I signed and sounded out
across the sky—
but the wind weaned him,
yes sung in his veins
the wind sang in his wings,
and his wings wandered
and wended their wanton way to the sun—
and the sun soon singed and sundered his wings,
the wind sprung in his veins had cindered his wings,
and his fall rescinded all vain winnings—
the sea swooned and scented his arms
and at last he settled his head,
surrendered, sound on the sand of the sea bed.
Dublin, Bloomsday, 2002.