The speaker opens with a question that sounds like longing: where can I go to hunt "our own hour together"? The phrase suggests a private stretch of time shared with someone else, and the speaker can't find it. The title, "Out of time," fits that sense of being displaced, as if the hour has slipped beyond reach.
The next lines turn physical and strange. The speaker falls into the night and "melted almost to water," which gives a feeling of losing shape and firmness, of dissolving into the dark. Then comes silence. The speaker can't hear anything, and the fear that follows is oddly specific: a "thief of noise," as if sound itself has been stolen.
The mood is uneasy, quiet and a little dreamlike. Judging by the imagery, the poem seems to link absence, whether of a person or a shared moment, with a world gone mute. The speaker is searching, but the night offers no answer.