Topography

Five perfect circles, cast as lakes,
Lie strewn, or sown, or dropped
From who knows where,

While in among them scurry
Paths of streams like
Rain across a blinding windshield.

We have a word for all of this:
Topography, which owes its charm
To measurement of length, and
Rise, and rock,

But turns away before these waters
In the round, and watches, silent,
As the rivers twist the word away.