god of wrong-coloured curtains we kept anyway

god of the chlorine-poisoned geckoes and treefrogs

in the filter box god of pale brown spiders that cruise

humid cupboards empty shoes a sleep-warm bed

god of cups exiled to drink up dust

pens that should be thrown out

laundry baskets losing their handles

god of half-closed eyes in photographs

god of the oilslick chests of male wrens

and the jenny wren cowled in brown

god of foxes and feral cats thumbing through scrub

god with the patience of a skink growing back its tail

god of lights left on all night

god of wind that carries off plastic chairs

and elbows through thatches of trees

god that stands behind the locked door and looks out