El Viejo

I've been hoarse for a while now and this weak voice comes out like a whisper and I speak in tired jerks.
I boil medicinal herbs on the burner, herbalist recipes that turn into pure air, but I long for your eyes and the peace of the blue in the corner of my illness. I've been tired for a while now, I've rescued memories and faithful shadows from the attic and I go out to soak up the sun in the quiet square. If this letter seems not very flowery to you, don't think it's a sign of little love, I write to you in slippers, I have no honor left and I get lost in dark melancholies.