Messengers - Feb. 16, 2026

playing with a fly,

I wiggle a finger

and it lands on the

tip of the pen,

preens its wings,

already glossy

in the morning sun

no brain there

though it’s showing

a unique bravery

I mean, could you tell

the difference between

one of life’s emissaries

and a dumb insect?

so I lean closer

to read its lips

but it flies over,

lands on doggie poop,

dancing from one

nugget to the next,

playing with its friends

if that was a secret message

from the universe

I’ll pass and wait

for the next one