Vena Cava
by Annie Seikonia
in my vena cava
the surgeon found nanoscopic
relics of Portland
a tiny Victorian house
surrounded by roses
two rotting piers
encrusted in barnacles
and a rusted English Raleigh
bicycle circa 1940
in my atman
the nun found closets
filled with black vintage dresses
a wandering band of
Tuvan throat singers
an athenaeum of
illegible journals
and a wildflower meadow
humming with bumblebees
in my corpus
the oneironaut found the
ocean shore in summer
tinkled by
the bobbing music of masts
embroidered by seaweed
printed by paws
awash with the blue air
of distant tides
soon everything will change —
soft things collapse and die