Perhaps the nets will bring
broken necks, black cormorant feathers,
let traffic lights shiver,
let radio sets go quiet and the city crumble.
You may be taken from my arms by
your husband or the alarm clock,
your breakfast might be interrupted
by the flight of a B-52.
Maybe everything will stay the same.
Maybe it won't
and you'd find the mercury
of my voice soaking your answering machine,
and olive trees may blossom in the valley of Hebron.
You may be burned by ice,
or the TV light.
You may be called by parliament
and it may decree black and white,
wounded angels may smile
in the incidents section,
that feeding on smoke
like glass that woman may break.
A snake may climb up
her infinite legs. Could be.
Maybe everything will stay the same.
Maybe it won't
White flags may
give up light to your room,
my love may be near
and gods may doubt.
And this may be a good beginning2,
uncertainty principle.
You may be saved. Maybe
you'll wake with me
and swords may be buried.
Maybe everything will stay the same.
Maybe it won't
and you'd find the mercury
of my voice soaking your answering machine,
and olive trees may blossom in the valley of Hebron.
You may be burned by ice,
or the TV light.
A possibility exists
of you waking with me
and of cannons rusting.
