On a warm summer night,
I glanced through my rearview mirror,
the city that broke me
now bathed in light.
Lightning stitched silver threads
along the crowns of distant mountains,
touching only the heights
as if heaven refused to descend.

I carried silence beside me,
sorrow unsaid,
grief unnamed.
This city, so swift with its vengeance,
gave me nothing but closed doors
and hollow days.

Still, I remember—
not the struggle,
but the way Albuquerque shimmered
in that final glance,
beautiful in retreat,
like something holy I could never hold.