I no longer have the key

The house is gone where my halcyon days of childhood reigned
although garden is still intact behind the oleander hedge row
the umbrella pine that leaned so perilously has been long
removed; what was a fountain where I kept wild fishes
I caught in the canals is turned into a planter box
but the putti baby angel is still there holding
 little dolphin aloft from which water
 no more flows how strange to know
 all those happy and sad times there
 live on only inside my head
 here we would camp out
 in a tent in the backyard
 sand and my estranged
 brother was my closes
t friend reading me
 Rudyard Kipling’s
Strange Ride
 of Marobi Jukes
 into the wee hours
 of the night when cats
 prowled on our back wall
 and night birds called and hedge hogs
 snuck about unseen while the distant hush
 of the waves kissing the beach was never far
 from mind; my two pet screech owls hunted
 for rhino beetles around the street lights; where
 did those nites disappear to, what archive stores
 them collectively besides what resides somewhere
 within the confines of my aging skull, where will they go
 when I am dead, after I’ve whispered the name of my true love
 from my dying lips to God’s ears as they lower me into the mother
 earth to feed her hungry children, worms who also do His work and
 never get a pay check or debts
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