Eddie Winston Is Looking for Love

by Marianne Cronin

somewhere, out there, grows the tree that will be the tree that will make your coffin. you must hope it is small only a seedling, only sap but it might be tall by now stretching its branches like arms into the sky. if I knew where it was, I would chop it down. I would return to the forest again and again with my axe, never resting, so that you might live forever.

I need some new words in my head besides my own. To the bookshop!