For Sarah, My True Penelope, Who Will Know What This Means

At the last hour, we found a haven
In the remote and ancient desert

Where a giant Belgian gentleman
And his brave, microscopic dachshund

Ruled a roost of red dunes, Range Rovers,
Deep wells, giraffes, and long horizons,

Where cooks, drivers, pilots, housekeepers,
Served as seamstresses, photographers,

And as rag-tag choir voiced by angels,
Who sang in the red sands at sunset.

We walked under an enchanted gate
And took our places in emptiness

At the unmarked spot where the giant
Told us to stand in his wilderness,

Where we voiced our vows to each other
As choir sang, sun sank, and he blessed us.