Niki Jumpei was a small ripple in a large pond,

No more effect on the whole than soft drizzle.

He disappeared years ago, some puzzled—

What, they briefly wondered, became of Niki?

No one but his landlord had reason to care,

Not his estranged girlfriend, not his co-workers,

Not his students; not even his family, who had

Scattered too far, too wide, and too long ago.

Seven years passed, the length of time needed

For a person to be officially declared missing.

Perhaps he wanted it that way—planned it,

Walked away, left behind something unseemly,

That was the general consensus—but I wonder,

Was it that, or was it the cold reality of being Niki?