Oranges and Worth Words

I felt so bright against
The gray of December-
Though I was alone and so
Nobody could (without a distant eye)
Have noticed

(Though what could words possibly-
be worth)            still

I cannot escape the way
I think-
I was making fire

In my hands
I wasn’t-            (of course)

The fire-
In language

Turns gray December
More and more pale against glim-
Mer-
Maid-            man-            how

Because who’s to say how            or if-
The world is too much with us
Or just too much?

Author's Note

A play with Gary Soto and William Wordsworth