(B. Walkenhorst)

I want to grow old with her

To have our children come

And find us face down on the hill

Listening to the hum

I want to grow wise with her

Truth pounded into bone

The sound of lies dies like white noise

Listen to the hum

I want to grow gardens with her

In soil of sand and stone

My desert blooms with wild perfumes

Listen to the hum

I want to grow up with her

To change in slow motion

From laughter simple to lovers that tremble

Listen to the hum

I want to be born with her

Where cell and soul become

Aligned and tuned to something new

Listen to the hum