Wouldn’t it be a joy to pour darkness into a jar, thick and solid to the touch? I picture it like slick, heavy oil, infinitely dense. 

Light would be cotton candy, the airiest of fogs. 

Scoop  them up in buckets and shape them for hours until you’ve mixed the perfect sunset. Paint your own constellations in the night. Scrub out Orion’s belt, twist his bow into a fishing rod. 

Streak a hundred shooting stars across the sky with a flick of your wrist. 

Or, of course, dip your brush in black and unwish them into nothing.