postcard to a motel

we could be kindred spirits;
perhaps if ice cream was still rare.
we'd have ice cream together,
in canadian summer with wildflowers

like the air after dawn
(or is it the light?)
like putting on a clean shirt
(or is it the body?)
 
there is nothing beyond you,
sea-ship, flashing neon
and open, looking outward
and inward,

                    snowglobe curious
we keep watching each other
your 24-hour sign
like an open red eye