Dog Hill

Yesterday, walking Cherokee Park for the first time -

a few minutes spent atop Dog Hill

where the trees were without leaves

and the mudded ground was without steps

leading slowly, steeply down

to a barren bottom

that held a lone bench, and some woman

or so I could tell, with her face wrapped so tightly,

for the wind was without pause,

and around her, on its large, flat face

Dog Hill was without much anything at all;

Perhaps to return once more after hours

when it would be without even light

would do me good -

just staying a while,

matching its emptiness with emptiness,

just tactless me,

graceless me,

timeless me, 

dogless me, 

on a dogless hill.