For everything

Raindrops,
scatter the earth's pretty colours
on my mind,
fill my belly sick.

Smooth homunculi
dancing crazy, spinning on a worktop,
making dervish answers.

These have subtle names that hint gently
at some language after language,
that drowse and doze and rock,
sublimate and supplicate.

Little rocket,
space-pod in a crackly shell,
a good impression of sugar.

This is a small god,
an answerer of prayers made daily,
its million shrines
on every windowsill.