The Persistence Of Memory Poem by Celine Socrates

Is this how poetry articulates the unbearable:
clocks melting into the sand, the horizon stretching forth
into an endless uncertainty,
something we cannot recognize dying before our eyes.
It is late afternoon and we are speaking of time,
its irreversibility,
how it builds us and condemns us.
We are speaking of the things we cannot hold still
within our grasp,
our hands tremble at the thought,
the space inside our fists never enough
to hold all that needs carrying.
Must poetry always live with pain,
too much of life demands too few words,
yet how can we bear to speak of the unspeakable,
and maybe this is my way of telling you
I am afraid,
and maybe this is how we begin
the act of forgetting, which means
not acting,
abandoning ourselves
into an uncertainty dissipating
into the sand like clockwork.