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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