Laura Kasischke's poems have the same haunting qualities and truth as our most potent memories and dreams. Through ghostly voices, fragmented narratives, overheard conversations, songs, and prayers in language reminiscent of medieval lyrics converted into contemporary idiom, the poems in Space, In Chains create a visceral strangeness true to its own music.

So we found ourselves in an ancient
place, the very air around us bound by
chains. There was stagnant water in
which lightning was reflected, like
desperation in a dying eye. Like
science. Like a dull rock plummeting
through space, tossing off flowers and
veils, like a bride. And

also the subway. Speed under ground.
And the way each body in the room
appeared to be a jar of wasps and
flies that day—but, enchanted, like
frightened children's laughter.