Did you send it?

Couldn’t clear the corner
louder than the crash
is the silence
in the aftermath;
the mornings are colder now
but sunlight flashes
patches in
my shadows till the clouds roll in
and the warmth bleeds out.
Did you send it?
It isn’t dead it hit its head
upon the clapboard and it dropped,
now it’s hobbled
but still hops
out from behind the plastic urn
half-full of old earth.
There have been others,
they lived or died then
time took them all
away again
in the end
I am still here.
Waiting.
The flutter in my hand,
under the skin the
fragility of the skeleton,
feels like the first one
I want this to be the last time
I see it suffer it’s staccato
shudder in my palms
-if my own heart stutters along-
is this empathy?
I always forget.
Did you send this
little stunned one
I will always keep you
if your shadow
can not leave the ground.