Wild Horses by Marc Swan
Standing before the Wall
Michael's hook captures
the orange fire of dusk
raised high
in a smart salute
to a time in his life
to this day
he doesn't understand
The quietly grazing
water buffalo
he felled
with a single shot
Wild horses
running in a pack
singled out
and cut down
with the puncture
of his bayonet
A solitary figure
working a patch
of desecrated soil
spun completely around
by the rap beat of his m60
as a snowy white egret
flew straight ahead
into the morning light
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