Analysis of Rienzi Crusz, brown in snowfall

"This is all there is and this is everything" - JOYCE CAROL OATES

Take my poems--
I have nothing else of value to give you.
fruits
of lonely nights, faithful candles
that flamed and sputtered until
my metaphors were right.

Take my poems--
my kingdom of fears in harness,
days of silence
when my neighbouring world
danced its tumultuous jig
and laughed.

Take my poems--
they were born with a brown skin,
sang with a brown voice,
danced a brown jig, preserved,
until the cold white paper
took in my words with the music
and fatted calf of the prodigal story.

Take my poems--
my umber heart my umber words,
the forgotten pain, the remembered music,
the new landscape,
why I thought God was a poem,
the poem, the only cosmic poet.

Take my poems--
mostly, because I love you,
they are the bloodstones
of my youth, fading footsteps of age,
small bouquets
that may, perhaps, survive a little while
like a memory.

Nothing else comes to mind--
the house is only wood and cabook,
the money is paper.