s ynchronicities in a day's reading: I started this morning reading the poet and critic Bill Berkson's portrait of the poet and critic Edwin Denby (two of my favorite poets.) One of the things that struck me in the portrait was that Edwin Denby spent the end of his life obsessively reading Dante's Paradiso. So I started reading it, James Cotter's translation given to my by Dr. Cotter himself this past Easter. Later I listened to a New Yorker podcast about W.S. Merwin's poem in the New Yorker, Rain Light. Rain Light All day the stars watch from long ago my mother said I am going now when you are alone you will be all right whether or not you know you will know look at the old house in the dawn rain all the flowers are forms of water the sun reminds them through a white cloud touches the patchwork spread on the hill the washed colors of the afterlife that lived there long before you were born see how they wake without a question even though the wh