The rivers rise and fall
with the rains.
The hills come and go
folded into their colours.
Day and night are
the forest’s murmured breath.
Green are the roads full of song,
the spine of sky split open,
And the drovers’ cries,
forever herding stars.
Fountains of light sucked
into velvet: the silent midnight.
These moments, so translucent,
flower quietly in the heart.
Nothing concealed nor measured,
no meaning here:
A wordless thing,
open.
—
simonhlilly 
so many lovely images here, such as “The hills come and go/
folded into their colors.” i find the word “folded” especially evocative. but the last stanza is my favorite: unexpected, the shift in poetic form echoing the shift in meaning.
Many thanks for your comments!