Two Thirds of Us and the Earth

If I could believe what makes me was a rainstorm –
with a heavy gracelessness I myself possess
and what made me will become the dew –
that sits clenched on a petal it could easily overwhelm
then, unused to such things, I could be led away by you
to dance through the warm slipstreams of dorsal fins,
to the mad bulwarks of the southern ocean’s swell,
to tumble with smooth lucidity onto unknowable shores,
but I was safe
still
frozen for some time
until melting and unfurled for a first and only bloom
I was led lovingly away