Neighbors

I imagine farm land.
​Green raising against sky.
​Not so much dust as there is dirt.
​Memories of Texas, a long time ago.
Mamau and Papau had land that I remember.
​I always wanted something like it.
​My own version.
Something I could make myself proud of.
​On my own ground, no one can tell me how to live.
We work the way we choose and abide no outsiders.
Since I was a boy, I remember home.
​One square mile where dreams make believe and stare through the gates of heaven.