trust is laziness.
the sleep of the questioned muscle,
the unread terms,
the signed line.
a willing blindness bought for the price of comfort.

trust is not a button to be pressed,
not a key in a lock,
not a function or a flawless test
of some cold and logical stock.

it is the quiet space between two breaths,
the hand held out, not to receive, but to give.
it is walking the cliff's edge over depths,
for the fragile reason that you wish to live.

it is the nerve, exposed and bare,
the un-armored chest, the closed eyes,
the terrible, courageous dare
that sees a truth behind the lies.

it does not ask for a guarantee,
it defies all algorithm and plan.
it is the last old human mystery,
one open hand held out to another open hand.