Still, still, I am told to leave you alone
If I say it I push you off the chair
The contemplative sees you sitting there
One cannot paint what one unably sees
He knows her, he sees her beneath the sheet
His pictograph entering her being
European pharaoh, a golden chair
Love isn’t the question, that’s been foretold
What you have here, matter of frankincense
—Howard Hain
https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/435876
The Victor's Place 