In Diver, Alan Shapiro plunges into the profound depths of mortality, memory, and the human condition with his signature blend of philosophical rigor and emotional clarity. These poems navigate the liminal spaces between life and death, presence and absence, offering meditations on aging, loss, and the strange persistence of love.

From the ancient world of "Tiberius on Capri" to the intimate recollections of "False Teeth," Shapiro demonstrates his remarkable range, moving seamlessly between the cosmic and the quotidian. Whether contemplating tardigrades on the moon, the mechanics of grief, or his father's dentures, he finds in each subject a doorway to larger questions about what it means to be human.

With wit, tenderness, and unflinching honesty, Diver captures the precarious beauty of our brief time here. These are poems that refuse easy consolation, instead offering something more valuable: the clear-eyed recognition that even in diminishment, even at the edge of the abyss, there remains the possibility of grace, connection, and hard-won understanding.