The poem “Suburban Sylph of Crying Owls”: haunted by almost ghosts. How life in the almost urban retains echoes of a lost, prehuman world. there, just beneath the surface, or in the cry of owls, or in the shadows cast by the street lights through the trees: you can feel them. The suburban sylph are there.
Here’s a dig back into the archives, to a video poem I made back in 2013. This piece was subsequently shown at the Visible Verse festival in Vancouver. It’s one Continue reading