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Richard Dankleff



Winter 1990 | Poetry

This morning, arriving from Santos, they met the Delaware's floating ice. The river pilot climbed aboard and sighed for Brazilian beaches, then talked wind chill. Immigration rehashed last week's blizzard.          [...]

In the Islands

The butterfly girls come up the rope so quickly— hand over hand from the dark—they seem to float. Two hold the rope with their feet. The other two don't use feet at all—their thin arms so wiry, young bodies underweight. Once over the rail they [...]