In empty places, long I stand,
Absorbing what I feel, and see;
There is no rush or urgency,
No fatal voice to countermand,

But there is in austerity
A kinship of a lasting kind:
I look at this, and my own mind,
And know I'm here, and this is me.

This isn't felt mistakenly --
In being stripped, or left laid bare,
Without attention, without care --
These are the marks of agency,

Make no mistake. Each brick and tree
Has seen what comes with each quick trade,
The value lost in choices made;
Yes, I am here, and this is me.