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As we ended the Kiowa track I cracked my saber on a collarbone, a defender's arm. I've lived a life of two books -- Morphy on cheese and Caesar's commentaries: all-out war, taken up from the page. Downstream, regimental colors fly above the field commander's tent, West Point rings lie on a table, gathered like agates in a marbles bag. The best of their kind are dead, our general says. We killed them all. ____ R.T. Castleberry is a widely published poet living in Houston, Texas. 
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