soft litany

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

ve—then a crooked grin threaded through its folds like sun finding a seam, Paper boats that had learned mercy now practiced cartwheels, capsizing to spill giggles onto the tide, The Monkey King pinched a cloud and taught it a rumor of nonsense; maps began mislabeling treasure as errands, Forgiveness inked a sly comma and winked; the ledger snorted and sent prank-postcards scattering down the allee

The Monkey King folded his grin into a palm and laid it gentle over the bloom; the flower exhaled a petal that tasted of truce. Paper boats moored to apology-stones, rocking small promises back and forth until their knots remembered how to let go. The ledger, tired and pleased, began listing mercies in marginalia—returned mittens, the precise hour of a forgiven word, the slope of a mended path. Ad

He tuned his laughter down to a single muted bell, each strike naming a small absence and letting it rest. The bloom folded itself into a quiet ledger of petals, each vein a syllable for those who went and stayed in memory. Paper boats drifted with tiny candles, their light a soft litany traced along the river's slow remembering. The ledger learned to pause between entries, placing gentle commas—e

He tolled the last bell; its echo braided the candle-flames into a murmured ledger of mercies. Paper boats, swelled with forgiven names, charted tiny reconciliations and landed them like warm coins on doorsteps. The bloom closed, petals turning into a bound book of small returns, each vein a map back to breath and belonging. The Monkey King laid the ledger down; beneath moon and margin the night’s