Two short sentences, and each one turns into a question without a question mark. The title, "Prospects," plays on two meanings: prospecting for gold, and a person's future chances. The poem seems to sit between them.
In the first couplet, the speaker finds gold and then wonders whether the search was really a hunt for the self. Success becomes strange: the thing found isn't just treasure, it might be a reflection of the seeker. The second couplet flips this. Where the speaker finds only a hole, an empty or failed spot, they move as fast as they can. That could mean fleeing, or it could mean digging on with fresh urgency. The poem leaves it open.
The mood is restless and a little uneasy. There's no triumph in the gold and no clear despair in the hole, just a speaker who keeps moving and keeps questioning their own motives. The lack of punctuation makes the thoughts feel quick and unfinished.