New Prospects For Memory

This is the cave we have
Drilled from the rock filled
With treasures:

Some surface gold,
Coins bear the faces of gods
And kings --
Stamped with the date.

Grasp their cool surface
-- sensation --
You know it because of the cold,
And because you can feel
In outline a beard, an old nose

But some deep load these are
Diamonds (limestone or quartz?)
Sharp to elicit a cut from the hand
That feeds it discovering blood, smooth
Polished never (excepting the later

That turns up the ore is it dusts and grinds
It prepares it like a lens but later
How dazzling and everyone says
Could it not have been clear?)

Deep I mean you can dig and dig (hard the
Rock, stamp your feet and you never knew
How solid the ground
As if because it would never occur
Something's under it)

Scratch with your nails you won't uncover the
(in heavy loads, or something
Under a great deal of tip to root out)
Rock precious rock:

The whole cave is made of the rock.