The Mountain Must Go

They ask for the highest point
you’ve ever stood, higher than the dangerous
tippy top of the ladder you shouldn’t have leant

on the other ladder you shouldn’t have leant
on old siding and ignoring the do not stand
and you wonder why it’s a step

if you can’t stand on it, what’s the highest
point in the country, the world, the highest
point you’ve braced your toes against

and reached out with a paintbrush toward
the soft splatter of a cloud just get that last
faint smudge of color hidden beneath

a new coat, your shirt with its last
faint splatter of spaghetti sauce or sweat
hidden beneath a new coat riding up a size

too small. That point. Your highest one.