if time can echo

'What does the ticking of a melting clock sound like?'—overheard in Dalí _______________________ A clock made from ice lies on sun-scolded tiles— the ticks go slower, steadier, harder— as the pool of water grows, wakes, devours— The ticks become a pounding beat as the clock melts into throbbing muscles From timeless to time— From time to flowing blood— When forms collapse into echoes, that’s when the carol ends.