one time

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One Time
by William Stafford
When evening had flowed between houses
and paused on the school ground, I met
Hilary’s blind little sister following
the gray smooth railing still warm from the sun
with her hand; and she stood by the edge
holding her face upward waiting
while the last light found her cheek
and her hair, and then on over the trees.
You could hear the great sprinkler arm
of water find and then leave the pavement,
and pigeons telling each other their dreams
or the dreams they would have. We were
deep in the well of shadow by then, and I
held out my hand, saying, “Tina, it’s me—
Hilary says I should tell you it’s dark,
and, oh, Tina, it is. Together now—”
And I reached, our hands touched,
and we found our way home.

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