by K.T. Landon
Choose one instant
in which to spend
forever. Sprawled in
the nighttime grass
at eight years old,
run through with
starlight. That first
electric I love you,
before you knew
all that love was.
The last day in Italy
when you realized
the light had made
you another kind
of alive. Mornings,
curled around each
other, the windows
open, the doves calling
quietly in the dawn.
The lush intoxication
of the lilac he planted
for you. The frozen
field of snow, giving
the moon back to
itself. In the quiet
hospital holding
your mother’s hand,
knowing at the last
she waited for you.
Every incandescent
moment—burning,
breaking—you
already spiraling
into that eternity.
Finalist, the Poetry International Prize 2022