Of course, the humans must measure themselves.
They measure their energy, their mass, their momentum
Compare it to the appearance of an early Japanese Iris
“Smells like grapes” is written on graph paper, in ink.

They discover lots of delightful gems like this, yet
They keep their instruments away from certain things
Like the music room – they aren’t allowed in there,
Thinking they wouldn’t read correctly.

Dali’s devices melted for a reason, and probably not the heat
Although he was taking the temperature of something
Lots of veiled energy, measurable if you would uncover
Layers and layers of paint, assorted colors, some brighter than others.

The humans can’t ever seem to measure that one thing-
Unable to stop, they measure everything else instead, thinking
Whatever is left when they are done must be
Their own immeasurable, long-hidden soul.