In Creance; or, Comest Thou Cosmic Nazarite, Andrew Colarusso hybridizes lost and unknown spaces, taking his title from a falconry term for the cord used to restrain a bird. The word derives from the late fifteenth century, from the French créance (“faith”), also denoting a cord to retain a bird of peu de créance (“of little faith,” i.e., which cannot yet be relied upon). Poems of personal narrative and metaphorical depth speak for the voices searching—in a world that lashes out or looks right past what remains tethered to the past—the parts that occupy the whispers of wanting, the dreams of finally being seen.

Foreword by: Matthew Shenoda