Two short stanzas set two kinds of looking side by side. In the first, the speaker goes out to "survey the water," a phrase that suggests careful, almost official attention, yet he admits it is something he "can never read." The water stays mysterious. He can look at it for as long as he likes and still not understand it.
The second stanza pulls him indoors, "at home with my wife and clock," where the only thing left to do is "count my money." Wife, clock and money are ordinary, measurable things, and the list makes domestic life sound orderly but a little small. Notice that the wife sits between the clock and the cash, almost as one more item in the household inventory.
The mood is quiet and a bit wistful. The title, "Taking stock," hints that the speaker is weighing his life, and the poem seems to ask which kind of knowledge matters more: the unreadable world outside, or the numbers he can actually total up.