dirge and drum

A wild flower flickered in the Monkey King's palm—small as proof, loud as a crown He taught it tricks of wind and riddle-speech, to cart the dusk and tumble kingdoms down Its petals rewrote maps: veins as poems, each fold a compass that makes old borders frown So from that stubborn bloom a new legend grew, stitching history to song and earning its own renown

It snipped the red seam of the city—streets unstitched into ribbons that chased their owners' shoes A compass sprouted ears and winked; it pointed where regrets hid and led them into tickled alleys Officials found their laws folded into paper boats, floating upriver toward rumor and laughter The Monkey King clapped; the flower somersaulted through cartographers' pockets, turning order into game

The compass hiccupped and burped a constellation; stars folded into paper cranes that secreted gossip. A fish-map swam up from an alley, humming the city's private weather and bartering blue for memory. Lamp-posts unbuttoned themselves and spilled trousers of light; newborn moons stitched between the cobbles. The Monkey King winked; the wild flower winked back and sprouted a small grammar of gleam

They crossed lintels like prayers; each doorway counted as a small salvation, Compass-flowers at their collars hummed the language of pilgrimage, alleys leaning in for benediction, Homes unhooked their private hesitations and lifted them like lanterns, marching toward lighter rooms, The Monkey King set the bloom upon the final sill; the city inhaled, became a corridor for returning

Thresholds bowed like cantors; hinges unfolded hymns into the stairwells, Each lintel intoned a syllable of welcome, paint-palms pressing small benedictions, Curtains read scripture in breath; keys crossed themselves and blessed passage, People unlatched memory with prayer-knuckles, handing regrets across thresholds like coins, The wild flower hummed a bell-note that braided silence into a call‑&‑

The bell-note braided silence into a call; thresholds answered in time, hinges and heels forming a slow metronome Neighbors raised aprons and keys like hymn-books; breath and foot stitched a steady refrain down every lane Lanterns swung as vowels, children repeating the flower's insistence, clapping palms to shape the beat Gate by gate the city fell into one voice—direction made by chorus, and the

and the lanes learned to step as if stepping were confession, each foot a slow benediction Lantern-vowels narrowed and marched in file; doorways set their teeth like brass instruments Neighbors folded small laughter into shawls and carried it forward on measured shoulders The Monkey King matched his heartbeat to the procession; the wild flower let petals fall like vows counted out

A mourning cadence soothed the streets, slow percussion shaping sorrow into a single pulse Feet answered like prayerful palms, turning private ache into a metronome the whole city learned Petals sealed maps into neighborhoods, each falling vow a bright, unarguable boundary of grace The Monkey King bowed; the flower folded into legend and the lanes kept time like benediction