'Mate you're not eating, though your backpack's full.
If a bloke’s too thin, people bury him
You're stuck to that stump, all pale and bleak,
You stare for hours, then for hours you sob
You’re out in the wet like a swollen creek
And you never cackle like us kookaburra mob’
I slopped to my tent where I poured cold sweat.
I dreamt of a raptor that plunders a nest
And woke up crying for the girl I’d left.
My head was lightning and thunder my chest
A powerful owl in her old growth tree
Shrieked in the night: 'My mate's a mate
And he cares for our young, and he cares for me
Where is your woman? Or are you too late'?