My flesh wound bleeds profusely
and I call the sun a malignant thing...
Truly, desperation has gripped his soul
Yet, it was he who grabbed its black wings
and drove down to the sea's violent foam
while the dove soared over his head
in ecstasy with the wind.
Awaiting the ebbing of the tide, he caught a glint of sunlight on the mudbank
and he knew he was there.