evidence

How can I believe in love,
in hope, in the strength it will take
to carry the load of my load?
How can I believe this hour
is the peace I need, or that the highway sign
isn’t a metaphor?
How can I know where the breadcrumbs lead,
what my hands understand
before my mind does, how sometimes, the weather
is just weather?
How do I stop myself
from stopping,
and instead, simply bend
a little lower to the ground,
watch ants circus their way home,
marvel at the thousand shades
of dirt, and nose my way on?
The buses stick to their schedules
as best they can. The airline barely
apologizes for the delay.
So it is alright if it takes me
a thousand times what it should,
and it is alright to be afraid of
the thousand failures just waiting to snap
their alligator jaws, and it is alright
if I shrink a little at the question
of whether this room could possibly contain
my thousand wild imaginations,
because how can I know unless
I stretch almost to the point
of breaking?