Fine like a Mockingbird's feather

Your earrings look like hair falling
to the bottom of your ears
like a hawk too plump to fly
like wood punched about
like eyelashes of a giraffe stuck on the leg of a spider
each shorter than the last, weak to the air,
a sleeping bat
a warriors' wing
a leaf dangling on a branch alone.
Like a nightmare being caught before the ear,
like a sad dog's ear
like a stingray swimming down headfirst,
an upside down candle's light, half a heart
with its twin across the head
like a rain droplet
like a flattened sea shell
a smile reaching to the eyes, like a miniature
whirlwind seen from the sky, like someone's
lonely tear on their dry cheek,
the pupil on a snake's eye when it's dark,
a single spade upside down falling from your ear,
the queen's hand when waving at her subjects
like the stain on Saturn's surface
like a light bulb torn in half
like a baton's carton grip
and a half of an hour glass, letting the brown sand fall in
one by one fine and uncountable, like a twinned seed
like a Raven's rounded chest
like a furry rabbit's ear
like the feather of a brown-backed mockingbird
hanging from the tip of your ear.