I've grown lighter.
Evaporation. The buffer between skin and muscle, lost to the angels.
But this is a good thing. With it diminishing load, my raft maintains buoyancy.
And yet...
It springs.
As does the discoloured sweat from my pores.
We'll remain afloat. Another day, at least.
Yes! I wake on the sixth, to blue, contention validated
The seventh, and the gannets howl their derisions.
Day eight. My raft develops a hiss.
Day nine, my lungs.
Wait it out, I tell myself. Until the tenth.
By then, God willing, I'll have floated away.