Studio time

The bluebells anticipate the leaves
of these summer trees
-- not quite sure of the season

And what look like yellowbells
and pinkbells pepper this lush, moist, foggy landscape
-- with the sound of dreaming

You swell in those pinstripes
Reading Dante and warming my feet
We pass a place called Reedham

And the tanoi tells us we are the wrong train.
Where will we end up tonight I wonder?
Heaven of Hell?