I don’t write her poems, that’s not what I do
I don’t show up with the roses and the view
From the cliffside where I’ve laid out a candlelit event
I don’t operate that way and she doesn’t resent
The absence of the theater in the daily love
I don’t perform devotion for the gallery above
I practice it in the private and the ordinary space
I practice it in the specific detail of her face
The quiet devotion, the love that doesn’t shout
The quiet devotion, the love that doesn’t flout
Itself in public or require the witness of the crowd
The quiet devotion is the love that’s not too proud
To make the coffee and to fix the broken thing
To show up in the plain clothes and the plain offering
Of the daily presence and the daily giving of the care
The quiet devotion is the love that’s always there
She knows it and I know she knows it and that’s the whole thing
She knows the quiet devotion and she knows the offering
Runs through every ordinary day in small and real
And constant ways that don’t require the big reveal
I’ve watched the flashy loves and I’ve watched them spend themselves
I’ve watched the fireworks people empty out their shelves
Of feeling in the grand occasion and the rest of the week
Is the recovery from the occasion, is the seek
The quiet devotion is the sustainable variety
The quiet devotion is the long-haul and the piety
Of the ordinary practice and the ordinary choice
Made daily in the daily use of the ordinary voice
Not the special voice for the occasion and the crowd
Just the voice that says I love you at the regular and proud
Volume of the regular life we’re living in this house
The quiet devotion is the lion and the mouse