for W.H. Auden
The old man and old woman kiss.

In the park, on the path, openly.

A fullness of touch, a coupling

Of comforts and fearlessness.
We, sitting on the grass, deny

That this should happen, even the broad

Among us sits up at the kiss length and

The old skin’s fondles and handholds:
The old are consumating among us

And while they can. How finite

This warm summer, plane tree shade

And smell of mown grass, oh infinite

Skin!