Home is 

The acre of raw 

Here grass was built 

Like my bones 

My body

My soul 

Home is a collection of all my memories

Ladled into an acre of land 

And the many strides it took 

As a child 

To cross the street

Into the wood 

Across the field 

Next to the Queen Anne's lace 

Where I named the bark of specific trees

That I looked on as fond friends 

I can still find a few of them 

I had crooked teeth then

And bangs like swings 

Rusty at the hinges 

And a voice as high and untamed 

As a mule 

I was an acre then

Raw