The speaker is stuck in a state of waiting, and the title, "Suspended animation," fits: life is paused but not ended. The poem doesn't say what is being waited for. Instead it defines the speaker through a list of things that are small, spent, or absent. A heart reduced to a "small sum." A "warrant" that has turned to ash, so whatever authority or promise it carried is burnt out. Water that is "the no one there," which is an odd, haunting phrase suggesting something that should hold a presence but holds none.
The final line is the heaviest: "the sleep of a dead child." It's quiet and hard to look at, and it ends the poem on stillness and loss rather than any resolution.
The mood is hollow, hushed, and uneasy. The speaker feels diminished and emptied out, almost merged with nothingness. Because the lines have no punctuation and no explanation, the images pile up like a slow, held breath, leaving the reader in the same suspended place.