The following poem first appeared here in Arator.
Hunting
The deer, leaned over, frightens
at the sound of the crack,
the broken stick beneath his hoofs
or the hunter’s feet.
Wagging his tongue in the moonlight,
shaking his fist at the sky,
the hunter loses choice and chance.
A moment later
it would have been gunfire:
the sound
either unreal or untrue
that cannot be heard
except by the living.
A crisp cool tug of air,
like the long drag of a cigarette,
wisps across the earth,
slaps him in his face,
reminds him
of the coming cancer.
He looks through the sights, down the barrel,
and fires at the nothing that’s there
to kill the something that is,
the sum of his existence,
and ours:
hope and truth.
The Literary Lawyer: A Forum for the Legal and Literary Communities 
I read Hunting over morning coffee and this story, reported on National news last evening, rings in my head…I don’t know how the newscaster could keep her composure…even wear a smile…move on to the next story. Hope and truth? Today I feel challenged once again by humanity; the choices we make. Phone text read and sent while going 110 kms an hour? Sniper shot rings out and hits an innocent?
http://www.foxcrawl.com/2012/09/05/shocking-syrian-girl-rena-shot-killed-by-sniper-in-aleppo-video/
Following the link I realize that this is your poem. Thank you.
I enjoyed reading your poem!
This poem has stayed with me in the weeks since I first read it. I keep hearing the crack of the broken stick and the blast of gunfire, and picturing how he “fires at the nothing that’s there / to kill the something that is, / the sum of his existence, / and ours . . .” Beautiful work.