Like a domestic Dante navigating the dark woods of mid-life, Richard Sanger looks back at raising children while he confronts the mortality of aging relatives and mentors. Equally attuned to the domestic and the restless, to the hum of the city and the silence of northern lakes, these poems are heartfelt and wry, playful and wise. Sanger deftly picks a path, finding his bearings best when he is “lost / in some dark forest.”
