To Julien

by Timothy Murphy

for Robert Mezey
He mourns you, as only a doting mother
      or an old grandfather can,
      as Catullus mourned his brother.
          Your death at two—
it was the hardest blow to any man
  I’ve ever seen. Now you are ten,
  a boy soprano in the choir
  where God suspends you on a wire
       in every angel’s view
above the basso voices of the men.
 
Julien, pray for Robert in your heaven.
Let him embrace you when you’re twenty-seven.



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