We are defined by light. Where we go, darkness is defied, night swept away with the casual motion of an arm clearing a cluttered workplace. We make points, lines, aurae that separate these lives from the powerless universe of empty blackness. And, yes, we complain of the neon flash, the urban halo that hurls away stars. The presumption! But indulgently, wryly proud that God alone is no longer the authority when it comes to creating light, and, when our stars implode, we need merely to change the bulb.