She wakes in Oz before she arrives—
in quantum physics:
and silly time.
Both in Kansas and not in Kansas;
neither no place like home.
On top of snaking sidewalks shifting before her eyes
and soon tornado-tossed hair,
bricks not quite yellow
but getting there.
We had time to kill before and after a melting witch
so we kissed Dorothy with lips
in Rorschach designs,
then asked her what she knew
as we lastly removed the blue dress,
and next each garish shoe,
and first the basket from her arm.
Where does the end start—
The Technicolor heart?
Over a rainbow only after the rain?
The house lifting before the weather turned,
a scarecrow aflame before hellish fire burned,
before judged by his maker.
A lion’s courage comes only after the medal.
It was all a dream only after we wake her.
Later (or was it before?)
behind a curtain
before the help of
The Maker a man—
botched balloonist from somewhere over fly-over states
crashing here only to rise into a heaven without us—
both a god and not God
whether we pay attention or not.
A good man, a bad wizard.
It’s the watching that changes everything.
It’s the peeking behind the curtain that makes it one
or the other.
And only after we click our heels
an emerald cosmopolis
was welcoming us.