Facebook's faces, sometimes as strong as words on the wall,
or in Xanga's blogs, or in now-old email messages,
serve as evocateurs
that summon more than one could think was stored
in tangled strands beneath the cortex.
That vault, in fact, proves not to be protected space
or cerecloth meant to hold or hide some hallowed hopes
that I had thought were now impervious,
reserved apart from further, subtle, deeper text,
not subject here to parse or vivisect.
From vantage point of age, perchance
one sees that those faces smiling over progeny,
or cyber-lighted eyes peering out in brightness,
mask sober-tinged realities
expressed ever so casually in the orderly syntax
displayed on my wall or my blog or my mail.