The Department of Lost Hours: a magical realism poem
The Department of Lost Hours Where do they put them, the lost hours of saved daylight? Are they stored in a dusty government office, an accidentally-funded pocket of the federal budget? Stashed away by clever clock drones who save enough to craft an alternate century. As autumn hones our edges, brightens the leaves, and billows gray above, the hours dim, shrink, and turn in on themselves. All I want to do is turn and go…