Happy birthday, Chief Inspector

happy birthday
my love
my gift to
you is here, see,
held close to my
chest in cupped hands

the slivers
cut my fingers
and I bleed a trail of
scarlet poppies
still I worry, lest I
drop them
and
the fragile glass
is trodden upon
by some thoughtless soul
with unclean feet

I am sorry
there is nothing
more I can offer
than these tiny pieces

they were all that was left me
when you went away