In the poems, Pythagoras is always searching for meaning in patterns—in the caws of crows, the flight of geese—but he is also visited by the random. “But then, without a sign, the crow departs; this randomness of fate gives him a chill./He sees the beauty of wings merged with night …” Was it a random coincidence that I was at the same time writing a book set on an estate with Italianate gardens? Inspired by Lee, I created a poet named Zalman Bronsky who wandered through the Italian gardens...