Touchstone

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Touchstone

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #240

To what end to measure the mountain’s height 
Or to weigh the waters of the oceans deep,
To what end to mark fragrance of rose bright,
If all is but a mere record in memory to keep?

What shall it avail to sift every grain of sand
Or count all the drops of pouring rain,
Why bear the throbs if in silence it must end,
Why gaze if it’s only an image that does remain?

Why the convoluted artifice of speech 
Or the vain acrobatics of thoughts circling,
Why fiery ardour and askesis’ far reach
If all must in silence find their ending?

Am not satiated by Thy seeming appearance,
Establish in me the touchstone of Thy eternal presence.