Between Beats Poem by Fred Rik Kesner

Late afternoon carries its usual drift,
a few steps folding into the next crossing,
someone adjusting their bag as they pass,
a shopfront glow shifting when the door swings wide.

Nothing announces itself,
yet the street feels tuned to a low register,
as if each small motion were part of a larger pattern
that doesn't need to be named to be felt.

You keep walking,
letting the rhythm of the footpath set the pace,
not chasing anything,
just moving through a city that seems to breathe
in its own unhurried way.





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