while the sun bled through me.
I pretended my name was Tuesday 
and I was a thief.
I stole feathers from the ground.
The heavy ones, full of magic.
Skinny ghosts walked by.
They ate cricket string. 
I could only hear their chewing.

I fell asleep out there. 
Dreamt about a lighthouse.
It was evening. 
Going up to the top I felt like a cigarette.
I grew tired with sweat.
At the top of the lighthouse was a piano.
I tried to play it 
but when I pressed the keys 
it fell apart. 
Inside the piano was a cherry tree.
There were bees around it.
I was scared of the buzzing.

When I woke up the air was cold.
My face had a sunburn.
I pulled out my pocketknife
and plucked a green apple.
I sliced it gently.
The juice stuck to my fingers.