Albin

Albin lived in Minnesota, but when
He started going mad he swore he could
Smell the sea,

The warm salt-and-sulfur odor that green
And weedy hung always in the dead air
Over the fields

Where the sea gulls wheeled and shrieked,
 Making time
In their cacophonous shanty. The moist
Sea breeze

Ruffled Albin's hair as he sat on his
Snowplow, watching children build castles
On white beaches.