Sing

Love is the memory of my grandfather's pipe
Way the smoke would settle in his palms
It is the hymns the deacons and mothers would sing on Sunday mornings
Love is morning
It is breath
Every inhale
Every Amen
Every praise

Love is the clouds
The pictures they make
Stories they tell

Love is the black dye in my grandmother's Jheri curl
Her belly laugh and perfect cursive

Love is
Love is
Love is