Fog
Is catching
In cold
Round drops
And from the rail
Of his terrace
Dripping

Some to fall and some to blink
In colours of neon from signs all along
His street

His stairs are wood
And old
And they creak
They complain
When I come
And talk
When I go
But I'm quiet if I try
And 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
Until they're done

There hasn't been a sound
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