The last day of spring,
Setting posts beneath
A molten solstice sun,

And stripped to the waist,
By noon I’m scorched
Pink as the dawn,

Thinking of those recently
Concluded commencement
Speeches everywhere,

The ones preaching sunscreen
And worrying about
Not worrying about

What comes next—
And I can’t help but wonder,
Why we rarely hear about

What came before, what continues:
Plunged through radiance
Into a world of sunburnt professors,

Delivered on a sunbeam,
Each morning, noon, evening,