I had my last day as an undergraduate at UC Berkeley last week. It was a strange day. I was on campus from 9:00am to 8:00pm handling last minute business, attending final classes, sitting on stone steps, and basically doing a lot of contemplation. It was very much a final day, physically and mentally. Before taking on the last hour, I stumbled into Morrison Library and opened The Paris Review to a particular James Tate poem. It was his last, and felt very fitting as the final piece of literature I’d read as an undergrad. This poem will be with me forever now, and I have a strange connection to Tate because of it and would like to take this time to praise the master and send my appreciation for his life and work. Please Read. I love you all.