The Old Couple Flies in a Dream to the Still Red Desert

We fell asleep holding hands that night,

in bed, mind you, facing each other

side by side, my right hand atop your right.

That's how it was, make no mistake.

With our sleep masks on, mine red, yours black,

you, Liz, or Lizard, turned to Zorra;

I, Ron, Gordo, Hombre Chiropteran

(más loco que una cabra). *

Off we flew into the dream ethereal,

stars kissing, pulling at, our wind-stiff capes.

Below, the soft red clay hacienda

eroded brick by brick into red dust,

which flew up into the twin chambers

of our noses — our nostrils — four rooms, in all.

Nothing was rent-, or otherwise, controlled,

that night the world became a still red desert.