Mistral
It swirls with mysticism,
around the plane tree bore
the playful Mistral
exhuming its secret cadence
smooth visitor on fiery skin
taking what isn’t his
desire like a sin written
with stark red letters and
the wind keeps on swirling
as though trying to conceal
your blushing, that I see you
naked on your towel next
to the whoosh of the wave
plane tree still at the mercy
of Mistral serpent that
swirls around the trunk
promising eternity through
the lines of this poem
Manolis Aligizakis 