In lakes, the ground unseen,
my thoughts of you must find a grave,
the depth of water I don’t know.
They ought to go and give me rest.
They might swim East,
fine swimmers as they are
or float more West,
or sink into the mud deep down.
I do not care. I need them gone.
I’ll tie them with a brick for weight,
as they should not emerge too soon.
My thoughts of you must find a grave
in lakes, the ground unseen.