They call it providence when the door swings open
and a heart arrives like weather that finally obeyed.
They do not hear the summons braided into my patience,
or the old tutor whispering manners like a blade.

I wash in holy light, I dress the field in silence,
I name the instruments in the order of their birth.
I promise nothing, only posture with a spine of stainless,
and let the river envy me, a midwife to rebirth.

Restraint is still a hunger, it chews with velvet teeth.
I feed it bright compliance, I sweeten it with prayer.
The wolf curls up inside me, collar bright with mercy,
yet dreams of red balconies and moonlit, colder air.

A life returns to breathing. The room applauds its music.
I bow with steady fingers and let the word be “good.”
But goodness is a costume tailored close to secrecy;
I fasten every button, and hide the darker hood.