Glenn Shea's poems here speak of distances: the distances of a restless traveler, the distances of time and death, and of romantic loss. But in remembering, "something has grown stout," and the poems reflect, in a final sequence about time spent in the teem and welter of India, a growing devotion to "the gold of busy and familiar day," and the distances closed by compassion, affection, and by poetry itself. Glenn Shea lives in Connecticut.
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