When free-diving, one begins with a final breath.
At the base of the rib cage, the diaphragm
Contracts, the lungs expand, the shoulders rise
In a singular, upward motion of muscle and bone,
An ascent to gather air before the hundred-foot fall.

Breathe easy, like you’re about to sleep.

There is method to breathing before the dive.
They say that gasps of air can only draw in
So much, and that you must
Breathe easy. Believe there will be enough for

Number two: the descent.
From a chorale of senses

Sunlight darting
Like herring along the seafloor,
Saltwater spraying cool and wet

Against warm skin, and the chattering
Throng of life above the surface—
All of it condensed into a single muted tone.

Submerged, the heart’s pulse slows down, the extremities
Grow cold. Density pulls the body deeper into the earth.

Finally, number three: the return.
One hundred feet below the surface,
Between the final breath and the first,
Begin the ascent.

Begin also to reap the benefits of beginning with a breath.

To breathe, to pray,
Which is to say I draw in heaven before I fall to earth.
Bound by the capacity of that single breath,
I move between the hours
And from strength to strength.