I visited Sophianae last week
  to see a flock of ravens
     who had large, black beaks
         and weary, calloused
           eyes and glossy scalpels.
              They gazed at my divine,
            God given gift; my spine,
          a tree that holds up my being,
       so twisted up and torn down.
    They sighed in exasperation.
  I almost felt their equipment
splitting me wide open;
    instead I imagined
      I was lost at sea
      with Odysseus; then I saw clear:
    their scalpels were glossy
  from salty, fallen tears
and broken winged dreams.