An oasis, A pool of green and blue water as cold as mountain snow. I drink, handfuls into my mouth, cursing every drop that slips between my clenched hands. The sand is always stuck under my nails, and my hair is tossed in it like it was seasoning. it rubs into the cuts and open wounds on my mind. A fox with a cigarette and tie watches from beyond my line of sight. I smell him watching me, waiting for the pool to dry up. The sands shift over his paw prints, but I hear the flick of his lighter and the burning of pall malls that he inhales like oxygen. His mouth is dry, he means to drink me, to write with pens inked in my blood. The sun beats down on the both of us, I drink from Mímir's magic puddle, sitting still, waiting for the fox to make his move. seeing wisdom in the shallow pool. I’ll make a poem of you yet, and I’ll smell no more cigarettes when you’re gone. I’ll never wear another tie.