A poem by Matt Haigh

  The Four Seasons as Husband by Matt Haigh   Spring Love, this teary perfume I excrete makes me sorry for the sentiments we’ve not expressed, so sorry for words stockpiled in our chests, like the sorry nuts which are the squirrel’s hoard.  I’m sorry too for those we’ve said aloud.  Sorry to see them grow in sorrowful daffodil piles here.  Sorry for these invading … Continue reading A poem by Matt Haigh