THE FALLING LEAF REVIEW summer 2017
VOLUME 2 NUMBER 2
June 8, 2017
COVER PHOTO BY JAY V RUVOLO COPYRIGHT (C) 2017 JAY V RUVOLO
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THE FALLING LEAF REVIEW COPYRIGHT (C) 2017 JAY V. RUVOLO
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THE FALLING LEAF REVIEW A QUARTERLY REVIEW NEW YORK CITY 2017
PUBLISHING AND CONTRIBUTING EDITOR JAY V. RUVOLO ALL TEXT HEREIN © 2017 JAY RUVOLO
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falling leaves A CHAPBOOK by Jay V. Ruvolo Copyright (c) 2017 Jay V. Ruvolo
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1 bedroom window facing east branches of a tree on the wall morning sun on the sill stick figure shadows of fingers to the bone window closed silhouettes moving in time with the breeze blowing mutely outside the window
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2 seagull gliding above the low tide surf sands matted by the waves, wakes rapidly rushing back into the sea to the right of a kite I watch gliding above the surf with a boy at the end of the string taut
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3 waves falling falling spreading wide into wakes at my feet I stand as I stood will stand against the breaking successive at my feet sucked under the sands quick of the surf in Montauk, Hither Hills–– the eastern edge tumult into tumult under torrent of waves following waves after waves 8
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I take another step into, then stumble–– I raise my arms as birds do wings in flight to catch my balance and not fall.
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4 Neither a moon nor a wide sky of stars, the broad swath of the plane of the galaxy all milky in a way we see unseen above at night from the beach in Montauk after a storm having passed the wind winding in its torrents as it blew as it blows . . . November's always been crueler than April, everywhere all around me decay, . . . clouds breaking into pieces apart
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5 I miss the crickets pausing as I watch the full moon shine through the window onto the bed the crickets outside the window at Aunt Anna's before sleep
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6 . . . a telephone rings in my dream. [. . .] I answer it. [. . .] Nobody responds. [. . .] I wake before I hang up, reaching for the phone ringing
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7 heavily silent present absence of you in my room, to night or not to night might be the question for you or not for you who I become when you are next to me still
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8 a breeze blows through the leaves a tree outside my bedroom window early morning after-dawn sunlight on the window sill mottled by the shadows of the leaves moving in time with the leaves on the tree raking the breeze
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9 a flock of wrens outside my kitchen window cacophony spreads with the sparrows who follow one two and another onto the cable box below the fire escape
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10 thickening skies, gray, I remember the angel on the rain gutters across the back from our window Paris for days–– who comes to Paris in February? I see the Angel of Death hovering on the edge of the roof across the back of our Hotel–– I have said already–– perpendicular to the wall with a window I look through––º all gray for days–– to watch the curve
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of a woman's ass as it passes back and forth and back again after a shower I do presume.
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11 a tree I see in me the window glass looking I leave a puddle at my feet a breeze tickles through the hairs of my legs extending below my towel
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12 a hole in the bricks of the wall of our hotel in Madrid perpendicular to the wall with the window I look out of to see the I-think-sparrows gathering on the building roof across from us that I spy from our window looking out back every morning–– the skies clear jewel blue no clouds
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13 morning walking without a clock tick-tick-tick as it goes without you the silence deafening even my thoughts of you without other gains another memory of a toppled bird bath bowl off its pedestal flower petals in the ice still colorfully beautiful
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14 i spinning on the pole on the train clink-clank steel wheels on steel tracks over the steel bridge ii a boy without words nor a thought of what his mother says to him about not spinning on the pole of the train as it goes over the bridge–– clink-clank–– It's not a park she says to him 21
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a whole world––the whole world in his head a joyful idiot I am in boyhood
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15 ten hundred thousand-thousand ripples of East River waters flowing below me to the sea, to the sea, mutely East River waters flowing to the sea . . . on the ground at my feet the absence of a leaf on a branch shaking image follows image a hole in the light I have said of the shadows
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16 a boy and two girls run away from a boy with two boys playing in the park after school
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17 dandelions having appeared overnight the lawns that lay between the buildings of the complex of buildings I live in in Brooklyn I see a few picked by a boy who resembles me in a dream I dreamed how long ago now I could not say again how my lower back ached in the morning when I woke decades older
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18 picked along the long road for her by me summer blue wildflowers at the foot of the back or the fore of the dunes I used to watch gazing from the back door of our room where we used to stay in Montauk summers a week of days 26
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or less coming back with coffee and morning almond beautiful croissants
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THE FALLING LEAF REVIEW SUMMER 2017 PUBLISHING AND CONTRIBUTING EDITOR JAY V. RUVOlO (C) 2017 Jay V. Ruvolo
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back cover photo by jay v. ruvolo © 2016
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