This elegant, intelligent, and deeply moving collection of poems is aptly named. Sauci Churchill's lyricism is indeed, quiet, and all the more powerful for it. She finds miracles in the smallest things -a tiny harmonica, a white lace collar, even the blink of an eye-and builds exquisite shrines of poetry round them. That hush in her voice reminds us that everything, seen properly, is part of a sacred whole. What a blessing this book is.

-Rose Solari, author of The Last Girl (poetry) and A Secret Woman (a novel)

It is good to have Sauci Churchill's early work and later poems brought together here. Her poems have long been marked by a unique combination of delicacy and toughness, reticence and candor. The poems she wrote between her diagnosis with ALS and her death in 2011 add moments of angry humor and astonishing beauty. "I lay down/in the whitest of snow," she writes. "later that evening/ a small red fox/ sniffs my face/ and moves on."

-Jean Nordhaus, author of Innocence, Memos from the Broken World, and The Music of Being

Sauci Churchill's poems are quiet marvels-this is not hyperbole. Her seemingly simple diction and concreteness of line, whether writing of childhood memories in Chicago (Running Down Division Street) or traveling in Jamaica and Croatia, or in meditations on sorrow and pain-which "like the night sky, is vast / Twinkling, it seems to come and go / but is steadfast like the north Star"-or in comic self-deprecation, the poems from one to the next have a luminesce about them: "Who's to say on a shining summer evening/ with my planet or star ascending / and my clothes strewn about / that I cannot dance/in the privacy of /the moon's light / just as I am / as I am." The poems of Quiet have a singular voice-you cannot help lingering amidst their warm companionability.

-Merrill Leffler, author of the poetry collection, Mark the Music