She let go yesterday; she thought she could let go,
let him slip from her nose, and gently from the sun
to sink deeper than her lungs could go; it was done.
She carried her son for nine suns, and eighteen moons before.
Could she let go, when the tide turned within her begging, “No!”
She dove for him, deeper than her lungs could go,
to fetch him from the dark, carry him toward that further shore
at the oceans end where again they might be one.
Deeper than her lungs could go: an Elegy for J35 and her pod
