She love’s lights, and that’s all I notice. They are hanging from the ceiling, at a bar, with shots of vodka to wash in the luminance. There are lights hanging over out side, lamps, and farther up, windows of expensive condos, and farther up, airplanes, then satellites, and then farther, in every direction, there are stars. In the daytime, it’s sunflowers. I never knew there were so many in the world, so many in my neighborhood, just around the corner. I always think to stop and take a picture, but I don’t. I drive past, or walk past. I think of her when I see her, and most surely when I don’t. I see her, and think of her, and feel her in my being, connected to me, when there are so many other distractions around. I forget about all of that, and find myself just staring into her eyes, into who she is, who I am with her, and who I have become. The lights are beautiful, without a doubt. She is beautiful, without a doubt. But when I stare up at the sky, yes it is beautiful, but then something deeper settles, a sense of place, of meaning, of how little we are, but how significant this moment is, and that is what I see, when I see those lights, illuminated behind the mahogany iris, within her.