A Story of Sassetta Paints Poem by Gregory Orr

For My Father
In the background, a saint walks a path
through mountains and a centaur-haunted
forest. In the foreground he's arrived.
He greets a hermit at a cave's mouth.
They've dropped their cudgels
in the stony road, and as they hug
their two haloes are one.
That's all. Let's say they're men,
not saints: what's taking place
is a wished-for, believable miracle
which must suffice.
When the one enters the gloomy cave
he cannot emerge, nor can
the other, making his way
through the world's woods, ever arrive.