Call me Ishmael.

The waves in their foamy textures
Could help us none.
The sea was empty, empty of grass,
Still life, how still, like my parent’s
bed.

Where are the gulls tonight?
Birds don’t fly at night.
Where are the gulls today, it’s strange
They haven’t arrived yet.


The sea is a charmer, the boy is seven,
The boy is me. I am the boy. Look, look here’s-
My little harpoon and my love-fish.
I smell like fish. I am sharks and
I am whales, I am waves and I am winds.
I am seagulls and I am the sea, yes, I am ships that float on
me.

‘Call me Ishmael.’
Call me by my name. I am the little hunter of
Godthab bay.



The sea is empty. The whales are dead. Where do think
I can get a little bread?