by Joshua Wait
The sky is worn out.
It’s grey around the edges.
Green is a faint memory,
the hills long for rain.
The hills are a swollen tide of yellow.
And soon, brown.
Remnants of barns, exhausted,
have collapsed upon themselves.
The cattle graze in crisscross patterns
on vanishing shelves of grass
without thought of fall or winter.
Joshua Wait studied English at UC Berkeley. He wrote his undergraduate thesis on the relationship between art and
poetry in the New York School. He received a Masters in Divinity from Princeton Theological Seminary. He has served in programs for children, youth, and college students, in an organization addressing climate change, and in the tech industry as a CTO. He currently divides his time between his family and his artistic practice.
