Please enjoy this poem zazen with the dead by local poet Alberto Montero.

 zazen with the dead

I am seated on the floor by his vacant bed

brother-in-law’s absence feels

ever-present

like the jagged edges of

shattered glass;

his hat behind the door hangs mournfully;

on the corner of an empty desk, his wallet

is a museum artifact now

The first bell rings

my starting breath

half lotus, eyes opened

my presence: his absence

concatenated, inseparable

casts a shadow on the wall:

God’s giant thumbprint

Between thoughts,

shadows and light dance on the wall

flowing into each other

separated only by lines invisible to me

I focus on him

his face is like mine

before my parent’s birth

He speaks to me as

a gentle breeze drifts in

through his open window

providing relief from the

stifling afternoon heat:

“I am the mountain wind

from the páramo with golden veins;

do not look for me in the place of ashes”

tock……

the finishing bell rings

and is carried far;

the basu sound is heard by the dogs

of la Floresta neighborhood

who respond with their barking chorus

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