Do Not Proceed Beyond This Point without a Guide

The official warning, nailed to a hemlock, Doesn't say why. I stand with my back to it, Afraid I've come as far as I can By being stubborn, and look Downward for miles at the hazy crags and spurs. A rubble-covered ridge like a bombed stairway Leads up beyond the sign. It doesn't Seem any worse than what I've climbed already. Why should I have to take a guide along To watch me scaring myself to death? What was it I wanted? A chance to look around On a high rock already named and numbered By somebody else? A chance to shout Over the heads of people who quit sooner? Shout what? I can't go tell it on the mountain. I sit for a while, raking the dead leaves Out of my lungs and traveling lightheaded Downward again in my mind's eye, till there's nothing Left of my feet but rags and bones And nothing to look down on but my shoes. The closer I come to it, the harder it is to doubt How well this mountain can take me or leave me. The hemlock had more sense. It stayed where it was, Grew up and down at the same time, branch and root, Being a guide instead of needing one.