Day wrecks itself against
the sky, a blood lit, bone-white
gathering and

stars still, hide their lamps
around far corners in
the farthest room.

Then, morning: the quiet dark,
a dampened pavement.

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Bethany Lim has been reading for many more years than she’s been writing, and she very much enjoys surfing the web here at PoetryCircle. She loves when she writes something unexpected and hears her voice change into something new, morphing into a different style.

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