POEM Bethan Lewis

NWR Issue 114

The Blue Hour

Under a drunken sky
woozing through the warped
mirror of twilight, faces
peel by, a paradox of
distance and belonging.

This grainy Gothic town
dunked in indigo,
its slender youths
discarding bicycles;
its antiquarian

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Bethan Lewis has an MLitt in Creative Writing, and also holds an MA in Applied Linguistics. She has lived and worked in ten countries on five continents, and tries to capture the scents of her surroundings in her poems. She now works as a literature teacher in the UK.


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