Climb to the top of this rock called Murning.
Watch a whistling kite and then two white cockatoos pass by.
Views to all directions-named stone dreaming sites and
unknown tiny trackways through the long grass.
Sandstone, crazed and cracked,
shelter during the wet, gallery filled
with paint and engraving.
Reds and golds bleed through the rock canvas;
white salts find their way down and meet
with paint, with story, with song.
