In pictures, each floats the sky alone,
its surface marked by steri-strips:
a mole becomes a knob-headed pin,
the scars where miners have gone in, blurred Xs.
By now the vast canals, some silted shut,
seem stonily immune to probes
pinging home faint discomforts.
So we're relieved both worlds include
only the grayish skies they drift through
and just one cupola or darkened hut.
These last, by signaling each other,
can gather, as the great head of Buddha
does from his amazing topknot,
all tender, contradictory feelings.
TODAY IN SLATE
The Budget Disaster that Sabotaged the WHO’s Response to Ebola
How Movies Like Contagion and Outbreak Distort Our Response to Real Epidemics
PowerPoint Is the Worst, and Now It’s the Latest Way to Hack Into Your Computer
Everything You Should Know About Today’s Eclipse
An Unscientific Ranking of Really, Really Old German Beers
Welcome to 13th Grade!
Some high schools are offering a fifth year. That’s a great idea.
The Actual World
“Mount Thoreau” and the naming of things in the wilderness.