To my friend... The travler

These stones aren't sad.
Within them lives gold,
they have the seeds of plants,
they have bells in their depths,
gloves of iron,
marriages
of time with the amethysts:
on thee inside laughing with rubies,
nourishing themselves from lightning.

Because of this,
traveller,
pay attention to the hardships
of the road,
to mysteries on the walls.

I know this at great cost,
that all life is not outward
nor all death within,
and that the age writes letters
with water and stone for no one,
so that no one knows,
so that no one understands anything.