THE QUIET CERTAINTY

The quiet certainty
Your key beside the door

The chipped blue mug has lost its handle
You use it now to hold your pens
I nearly threw it out last April
You said, "It isn't finished yet"
Ten years since that rainy weekend
The little shop beside the sea
You turn a page, I move the lamp
So you have better light to read

The quiet certainty
The hallway light you leave for me
I don't need a burning house to know I'm warm
Your key turns in the door; the day is done

You ask me where we'll be in winter
The plans are penciled, nothing signed
I used to answer every question
As though I had to make it fine
Tonight I tell you, "I don't know yet"
You pass the paper back to me
We leave a little room unwritten
And make the tea the way we please

The quiet certainty
The hallway light you leave for me
I don't need a burning house to know I'm warm
Your key turns in the door; the day is done

It's not that nothing ever frightens us
Or every road ahead is clear
It's knowing I can say, "I'm frightened"
And hear you move a little nearer

The quiet certainty
An unwritten year with you and me
I don't need a burning house to know I'm warm
We leave the light on for whatever comes

The quiet certainty
Turn the page; I'll move the lamp