i
- The narrator looks back on the work of his epic, repeating the phrase "I sang…" and, in doing so, further aligning himself with ancient epic poets whose works were made to be performed.
- He wanted to sing of his island in the Caribbean, its people and strength, but now "the idyll dies, the goblet is broken"—in other words, the spell has worn off.
- Images of death follow, as though the poet is walking into his own grave. Heck, he even says he is going to join Hector and Maud.
ii
- This section is a kind of epilogue, showing us Helen in her life after all the drama. She is a waitress at the Halcyon, and she is still pregnant (longest pregnancy ever) and still beautiful.
- The narrator says that you might look at her and think "Epic associations!"—or you just might say, "What a pretty woman she is."
- Either way, though, Helen's pride is still alive—and for good reason: She is Africa and the pearl of her half of the globe.
- As he emerges from the fiction, the narrator confesses about his obsession with Helen and her mythic possibilities.
- He is cured of it only by writing this work to get it out of his system.
- The sea-swift and Achille are also credited here, as stimulation to his memory and inspiration for his work.
- Oh, and that plaster Omeros, who made all these associations possible.
iii
- We end with the slaughter of the fish by Achille, who seems to be having some kind of fishing luck again.
- He is pleased with his life, and is carrying some dolphin back for Helen in Hector's rusty bailing tin. (Hide your eyes, Flipper.)
- As he leaves the beach, the sea continues to do its thing.