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the clock actually chimes at five minutes past the quarter-hour.   Sitting in the dark conservatory looking for a poem, I cannot find one.   I sit back and a bar of moonlight is across the page – ah, nine o’clock.





combe end wormhole: like Basho
conservatory wormhole: when things fall apart
moon & night wormholes: Let’s Go
time wormhole: grain
writing wormhole: ‘writing creatively …’