large jumbled blocks of concrete
sit piled against erosion.
Advancing waves gulp, slurp, and
drum against the hollow spaces where
the blocks brace against each other.
Waves wash the shore in cadence,
constant, lapping, one upon another.
Fog eddies above the water, a gauzy haze
along the beach, against the bluffs.

A pair of mallards rides small waves
dipping and cresting a few feet from shore.
Gulls skim the surface, gracefully wheel,
round over the water, screel and squawk.
Flattened m’s, sleek white and gray
they scroll the waters for food, hover,
beak down, dive, plop, float, then lift again.
Gulls own the sky above Atwater Beach.

Red-winged blackbirds trill
in the scrub brush above the beach.
Waves soothes soft sand.
Patches of pebbles and stones lie
tumbled against each other,
rounded smooth by wavewash.
A weeping willow leans out over
a retaining wall, listening to the waves.

No boats are visible on the gray horizon.
In the distance the green bluff
and sandy shoreline fade into the mist.
Late afternoon sun breaks through
mottling the beach in brindled shadows.
Peacefully motionless, silent, reflective,
let my observations be
the only trace of my presence.

Peter Piaskoski lives in Mequon with Kathy, his wife of 59 years. At Shorewood High School, he taught students, “Poetry is the soul of language and the language of the soul.” Now he walks his dog sunrise and sunset, humbly astounded by the magnificence of nature.