nocturne chant

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

The bloom began to inventory the impossible: receipts for storms, a ledger of vanished streets and small apologies It listed a moon with pockets, a compass that read which childhood you'd be tomorrow, a church spattered in origami birds Rivers were filed under "waiting," mountains cataloged by the taste of their shadows, borders stamped with lullaby signatures The Monkey King watched the list sign

The bloom tucked a giggle into the margins, folding receipts into paper frogs that hopped names like marbles, They croaked corrections—"Turn here, the horizon is on holiday"—and ribboned the borders with jaunty asides, The Monkey King snapped back, assigning mountains to improvise and rivers to practice slapstick by moonlight, Ledger and monarch became a call-and-answer: one lists the impossible,;

The Monkey King unstrung his laughter; his palms opened to a hush that settled like ash, The bloom folded its brightest petal inward, a small benediction for the streets it once remade, Paper frogs, mid-hop, softened into paper boats and drifted toward the margins of moonlight and memory, Ink began to list kinder particulars: names forgiven, the exact angle of a goodbye, the bloom learning to grie

The Monkey King cupped a paper boat; the moon taught it a hush, and the bloom hummed a lullaby softly The ledger folded inward into one benediction, names arranged into commas that let go softly Paper frogs kept time like a careful heartbeat, croaking small choruses that mended the tear of night softly The King's crown unknotted into syllables of forgiveness; he practiced them until mercy returned

The ledger peeled up like a skin of sky; receipts swam out as silver minnows and rewired the streetlamps' memories Paper boats unmoored from moonlight, rowing down alleys that unfurled into paper accordions and sighed confessions The Monkey King's practiced syllables ballooned into weather — a blizzard of commas that rearranged doors into singing mouths One bloom petal burst into tiny maps that l+

laid themselves over the moon's small wounds, each fold an obituary tasting of ash and lullaby The moon bent close, slow as a clock unmaking its hands, and taught the King a hush that names loss like a benediction Paper boats closed like quiet palms; frogs stopped their jokes and turned into coins dropped into night’s deep well The bloom folded its brightest petal into a pale flag, the ledger ink—

The ledger ink stitched itself into a single seam, mending the moon's small wounds into neighborhoods of light The pale flag folded flat; the bloom closed and let out a slow night-liturgy that braided alleys into lullabies The Monkey King let his last syllable fall like tidewater, learning to keep mercy in the pockets of doorframes Receipts became thresholds, frogs became coin, and the city's new