When I connect the dots,

   The people and events

      Like stars that mark my skies,

 

I find a constellation,

   A pattern of dark meaning

      Whose shape l recognize.

 

It is the face of Wisdom 

   Veiled by doubtful clouds;

       I hear her broken cries.

 

*

 

The beating of each heart

   And the pulse of every vein.

      Are universal signs.

 

The explosion of a star 

   And the falling drops of rain

      Are marked with careful lines.

 

But the conduct of our days,

   Random and erratic, 

      Must be our own design.

 

*

 

On second thought, it seems 

   The hidden hand of God 

      Has brought us to this place 

 

Where we have lived before 

   With all our ancestors 

      Whose spirit we embrace. 

 

All other theories fail 

   To explain the wanderings 

      Whose steps we now retrace. 

                                                  —David Weiser