Morning Colors

Fog is catching in cold round drops And from the rail of his terrace Dripping Some to fall, and some to blink In colors of neon from the signs All along his street His stairs are wood, and old And they creak They complain when I come And they talk when I go But I'm quiet if I try And I don't stay too long And I go before the morning And the dripping of the fog Is gone Sometimes I wonder Should I wake him to see All those bright bubble drops In the still slickened streets Sometimes I wonder Has he ever really seen them? Sometimes I wonder Has he ever really seen me It's so warm and still Fresh coffee and oranges Soon almond cakes He'll sleep till they're done There hasn't been a sound Out from under those signs Haven't heard a single footstep That is rushing to be on time Colors that are dripping Help to make up for his silence I think of you in green I remember he once told me But when I go As I always must do The color in his day will be Clear... and... blue