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.