beatween beats
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,
a loose scrap skittering across the pavement once,
off‑timed, then gone.
.
Poetry by arquious
Read 99 times
Editors' choiceWritten on 2026-05-25 at 12:05
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Editorial Team |
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Melinda K Zarate |
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Sameen |
