Blue and Yellow

the journalists who usually trail me
failed to notice the wound on my right side,
where i hide my heart.
it was early summer, and the sidewalk cafes
were full of tourists looking for warmth on
the nearby beach, so it was easy to disguise
my true feelings.
sculpture was uppermost in my mind, as
i would glue, sew, and otherwise fasten bits
and pieces of myself onto a hasty mental construct
while sipping my morning coffee, when i had some.
and if i rose to walk, my limp was hardly visible,
since everyone was watching the sun, wondering when it
would blur the gap between the here and the now.
once, the moon appeared above the dark ocean and it
raced through the clouds, like a ball.
noticing that, i grabbed a stick and drew in the sand,
just as i used to do as a child.
and in that moment, i felt no pain.