Exiting a freeway ramp into downtown Albuquerque, on to streets vaguely remembered, guided by my brain's
outdated map. Did I expect that the cycles of creation and destruction would cease while I was gone? The
Aztec gods entombed in "a vast cave filled with skeletons and ruled by the Lord and Lady of Death" beneath
the altars of the conquering Christian Church, still echo with footfalls "on its vaults below."

Running through the heart of this city is Central Avenue:

Rushing eyes glimpsed in opposite directions.
Marginal bushes thrive in pollution that defies
straight lines.

My first house there was my last sculpture studio. Next an apartment since razed to the ground, so not to give
shelter to its landlord's chindi, who is now threatening Satan with eviction from his infernal home. Last was a
thin-walled apartment on a quiet street. Standing outside, a strange again, I recalled love and disappointments,
illness and restoration, and the thrill of first connectiing to a virtual world.