Everything Calls Us to Become

I was walking the ice down the hill
during its diminishment,
much as it was walking me, 
I suppose, during mine. 
Bright flowers sang, 
and we spoke of many things: 
loneliness, mystery, endings, 
the unfairness and invitations 
inherent to melting, 
and we spoke of tangerines. 
We parted at the river, 
where the ice, now altered to liquid, 
and learning new language, trailed 
and trickled over the stones 
and the bank 
and into the flow, disappearing 
like one who merges with a crowd 
and is gone. 
I waved farewell, 
watching the vapor 
of our conversation fade, 
and then,
gathering myself together, 
I walked back up the hill feeling changed, 
searching for tangerines 
and my new name.

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