You sent directions to your home.
They covered both sides of a page.
There were notes in the margins,
of cross-legged buddhas
and juniper trees, warnings
of signs turned upside-down,
an ordered list
of the most meticulous rest stops
and half-way between two dusty towns
you crossed out the words, I need.
The loop of your L's and the sparkling moss
stopped me from responding,
if only to say,
You forgot; I want to be lost.
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