A Love Note

The nights grow longer. I go to bed at nine, like a kid, tired by eight.
It is fall. No leaves, some early snow.

I post a picture of the gate under lamplight, our little park behind it, cars
          out front.
I read the news. We microwave our food.

In the dream within a dream: a love note, pressed in my palm.
I denounce you to the secret police.

In the dream I wake up crying.
There is no love note. There is no secret police.