On the Death of Friends in Childhood by Donald Justice   My favorite Justice poem, and one of my favorites in the English language, is “On the Death of Friends in Childhood.”  It’s a dizzying ride for such a short poem, though I’d describe its motion not as a swerve or a veer, but a spiral that turns continuously in on itself.  And like one of those cartoons in which Bugs Bunny draws a door in the mountain, the final turn of Justice’s spiral is a kind of disappearing act. I see three turning-points in the poem, the first coming between lines two and three. “We shall not ever meet them bearded in heaven, / Nor sunning themselves among the bald of hell,” Justice…