Train to Sendai

Of all the patterns spilt in red

the fingerprint catches my eye

wandering its labyrinth of identity

in the middle a mustard seed mystery

who am I to be sprouting here this year

but really I was sown over 23 years ago

yeah back before I knew what numbers were

and mustard too

This poem was written with my wife, Jenny, as we rode a train to Sendai, Japan. We took turns writing the lines.