When we look up at the spire of Westminster Palace, we see not only the Gothic bronze laurel wreath, but also the ambition of a nation to materialize time. It is the mechanical holy grail forged by the Industrial Revolution, and the eternal alarm bell of parliamentary democracy. Please follow me into the mist of the Thames, touch the 13.5-ton brass heart, and listen to the four million sunrises and sunsets deposited in each sound. This 60,000-word poem is a symphony of gears and pendulums, and a fantasy of time composed of rust and rebirth.