Clocks in the dirt, clocks made of moving sand

Clocks in the dirt, clocks made of moving sand,
the pyres on the levee, the licks of flame
that aspire toward heaven, all these things
are calendars that try to explain her.

The tides that move in circles, how the spheres
revolve within each other, how the steps
toward the beloved become illumined. Planets
remember the earth, a simple pyramid

mirrors the constellations. This big clock
moves in the heavens, moves like a music that
no one is playing. I hear the tones of worms

and lizards in the detritus, in the mud
the frogs say words. Her eyes are like a clock
that holds me and gives my life a meaning.