I. I think of you often. When Sol dips just below the city walls I sometimes see your silhouette upon the battlements, laughing at your brother’s bird watching, at his urban planning, and at his belief in glory. II. You had so many mothers. One was raped and chained and buried. You never knew her. One flows swiftly this time of year. She carried you to safety. One took you for a cub. She distrusts me for taking you. One reared you as a future king. I miss you still. III. While Romulus built walls and codified laws and organized the shepherds, you swam the Tiber and played the lyre and chased shepherdesses. I miss your smile. IV. The walls you fell from could never contain you. I did not cry when they told me.