By | 2 February 2001

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

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