“Tucker writes on reading, travel, musical composition, writing and long distances, allowing the flourishing of this new relationship, this new connection, to hold as the central basis of the poem’s strength and momentum. There is something interesting in the blend of the intimately personal and the structural that Tucker explores in this singular poem.” —rob mclennan

“Tucker’s language is crunchy, fresh, and unexpected, repeatedly likening the kinship between lovers to non-human kin, crafting an interdisciplinary poetics of relation that marks Tucker as an innovative, shapeshifting writer.” —Hamilton Review of Books

“This is a a book about humans remembering themselves through their bodies. And birds. Of course. Just don’t be fooled by the space of each page, which makes the lines look like the transmission is breaking up as you cross the mountains. Their real performance space is somewhere between that page and your tongue as you sing along. And that’s the point.” —Harold Rhenisch, The British Columbia Review

“This book-length poem catalogues a variety of the events, sights, sounds, tastes and other engaging aspects in the memory of a year in a couple’s life, as they live separated by an ocean but come together in occasional visits. Tucker moves casually and breezily across this distance, skipping from moment to moment as quickly as a stone might skip out into that ocean.” —Winnipeg Free Press