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