A fine poem, Bar; as an apostophe to hours and, by extension, time, it evokes Larkin's 'Days':
What are days for?
[...]
Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.
As I'm sure you know! I liked the skill of the reducing stanza lengths in 'Hours'; maybe there should have been 12 in total?
As good as these lines sound, I wonder if they are too abstract:
Truth pulses for its own hidden sake,
nowhere and yearning for boredom.
And you probably know by now what I'm going to say about this! I found it especially tricky because "sun days'" is so close to "Sunday" of course, so had to pronouce it even more slowly.
There are some fine figurative moments towards the end of the poem, though, Bar, and I thought the last line worked particularly well. Sorry I missed this one first time around! b|v