We were there

Orange streaks peck the puddle,
light ripples across the paved road.
The sky plants sweet kisses
from the darkness of the rooftops
to the silhouettes of parked cars;
on the trees, still
against the cold night breeze.
Standing in the middle
of the dark street
barely lit by a single post,
I look up and all I see
is the dry side of my umbrella.