I do not steal the night,
rip out each stapling star,
unhook the punctured moon, 
unspool the stitching of celestial bodies,
fold the material into a blackhole.

I do not set up the day,
paint the blue hues of sky,
fit the fussy, flashing sun, 
mix the iced water called clouds,
unveil the art birthing beauty. 

I cannot steal nor set up 
what I am.