Tear me off, scratch my head. What's now black was once red.

My elder scrapes the clouds. My younger kisses the plain. I stand between their stories. What am I?

What does a baby computer call its father?

I shimmer in the heat, but offer no relief. I promise water, but it's only a belief. What am I, a trick of light and grief?

It's eager when put inside an ER. Reds and whites are in its repertoire.