I am St. Juan Grande Pecador in this new life;
unpredictably weeping and loving,
writing poetry and song.
so wantonly tired and worn but not sleeping.
sad that I cannot sleep next to you,
sad that I cannot sleep at all.
I think how I have loved you.
in morning and night,
I think how I love you.
I am St. Juan Grande Pecador
sitting in the sun, contemplating
the vagaries of kitchen table conversation
– Hoc Scripsi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 