Seamstress
I turn my face up to the sky
and watch the slivered moon
hang upon a blue-black night
like the spindle of a loom.
If sky were cloth, and I were skilled,
and stars were buttons bright,
what a wond’rous garment we would yield,
and hem it up with light.
c. EE, circa 2000
Penworthy Press 
This poem is beautiful. The last 4 lines are hanging in my mind.
Nancy
Thanks!
It’s an old one, written on the way home from work one night, when the sky was clear and the slender moon bright.