The poems in Maybe form a tapestry of voices that slip from visibility to invisibility, illusion to disillusion, the conceivable to the inconceivable. Alice Attie writes of boundaries loosening, of transformations and transfigurations born of the unknown and the uncertain. Her poems suggest that this world will dissolve, and it will reappear as something other, something ineffable yet lodged in language, something fraught with an urgency that is both sublime and unbearable. Attie asks from what vantage point can the seer see, the writer write, the listener hear, learning ultimately that "for the length of my years to lengthen, I place the pebble on my tongue and rearrange the boundaries"?