Sonnet for a Hunter by Marisa Cappetta
He catches rabbits in the paddock with spotlights. He catches frightened sand coloured luckless bundles, quivers of musk. He catches them alive with his hands. I thrive on this, complex and complete, like Australian heat. He makes our den with the foxes. We rest with eyes alert like spinifex, like silent red dirt. Editor: Andrew M. Bell