Portraits of Tokhang

By Vincent R. Pozon

INTRO:
The camera does not end the killing. It only ensures the grief cannot be denied.

It’s as if the camera need only click
for pain to freeze—face in hands,
a father cries like a child for his child.

They are bubbles in the streets, bounded
by neighbors in the city’s fragile corners.
Inside each bubble—screams, loud and silent,

bodies sprawled on the pavement,
or slumped against cars. The photographer
borrows sharp light from lampposts.

A woman cradles her mate on the ground,
rocking in place. With each click,
the photographer rakes his heart from inside.