Take that waiter, you could marry him.
A policeman with his fat black stick
Or a night watchman with his globe
Like an eye, veined, protuberant.
A baker thwacking his silky rope.
You could lie flat back and be floured.
In the morning you would have already risen,
An acolyte thrust by a great, ashen tongue
Into the fiery hole, where, purified, you alone
Would be saved, you would save everyone.
Or would you be served. You would serve
Yourself up, multiplied. All of you could lie
In the night side by side and then by day
Arise to love each other. Like they say.