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.