It's 2.50am. The draft at 2.26am was accidentally wiped. I had a quote from Oliver Burkeman that won't be included now. This poem below was written some Time ago ... it felt appropriate.
a hand
There is a place
you can go
where clocks
stop
by high windows.
It's said they see
Time
through the glass:
waiting
at Beginning's End
pulling faces.
For most clocks move
on
with their lives,
feeling Time
only
when it races.
Nobody knows
where the other few
go
the ones that Time
kept.
I heard they stopped
running.