The blackberry leaves that turn silver
when they flip over in the wind
know there is still time.
The charred trunks are still alive under the scorched bark.
The corals have not been completely bleached;
newts still float languidly in the pond,
and beetles, who have always carried the sun on their backs,
carry the minutes;
the mites are lugging the seconds
over the cold grains of soil;
grasshoppers move towards us with their ears on their bellies,
as if they were listening to the future;
the cardinals are fluttering,
the egrets are strutting towards us in their elegant way:
they are bringing us platters of time
and laying them down in front of us,
the hawks carrying hours in their talons
and letting them fall,
the ocean, with its clumps of foam,
delivering the weeks and months,
and even the snakes
curling around the strength of the time that’s left.