A poem by Sally

When Homer wrote of the wine dark sea
What coldness of the soul took he
Or pray tell
Twas it the scalpel
The cold tool of modern translation
Ripping and replacing
An operation
Of words
For other words
Vital organs for steel machines
I can think of no other way it could have been
Else why, this Dionysian
When he spoke of endless wine
That held the mystic boats 
The tasting notes
Failed to speak
Of the bubbles
For the sea
You see
She sparkles