Simmer down

In a flash (a week), I post. Here is a poem to whet the appetite.

Glory Machine
The clock of heaven moves
In an orderly pace, exact
So turn the fixed stars
So orbit the visible planets
The pieces fit, cogs teeth in teeth
Who is a cog and who is a spindle
What parts run down
And must be replaced
The best clocks are off
By a second each year
Who is that second
It’s always that year
Where does the error go
When it is corrected
Who sweeps up the bits
That fall off the glory machine