RABBIT RABBIT Kerrin P. Sharpe he gave him the lungs to open the hands of fields and walk through an alphabet of rabbits —'the train kept my son breathing'. In her third collection, Kerrin P. Sharpe writes about trespass and return, the homelessness of flight, and anatomies both human and object. Her poems take the form of oblique, sometimes tragic, always powerful vignettes. These are poems that are brilliantly restless in time and place.