I voiced the word "living" 
yet we started dying  
as the sounds began fading 
reborn into a clatter, and in silence, ceased being.   

Our souls briefly resided 
in borrowed flesh and bones 
as a cacophony of voices 
imprinted on postcards, as the simplest ridges we stand.   

I used the most basic colours 
of the mountains to affix 
reminiscences onto postcards, 
in time, as the guesthouse in town I shall remain.