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