This one is called "The Missing Person."
He has come to report himself of missing person.
The authorities hand in the forms.
He knows how they have waited with the learned patience
of barbers in small shops, idle, stropping their razors.
But now that these spaces in his life
stare up at him blankly waiting to be filled in,
he does not know how to begin.
Afraid that he may not answer even
to his description of himself, he asks for a mirror.
They reassure him that he can be nowhere,
but wherever he finds himself from moment to moment,
which for the moment is here, and he
might like to believe them.
But in the mirror, he sees what is missing.
It is himself he sees there emerging slowly as
from the dark of a furnished room only by dark.
One who receives no mail and is known to the landlady
only for keeping himself to himself,
and for whom it will be years yet
before he can trust to the light this last disguise himself.