Anastasiia Kutsevol

She is the stillness that keeps the wings folded. Flight exists without the need to begin.

She holds the animal without hiding it. Power rests openly in the form.

She is held, not covered. The fabric remembers the weight of her body.

She carries time in her hair. Silence rests in the metal that frames it.

She is presence before movement. Color gathers where the gaze begins.

She does not ride the wind. She becomes its direction.

She does not approach. She remains.

She does not show claws. She shows weight.

This gaze does not belong to you.
But it will see you anyway.

She does not shift. She is complete.

She does not act. She occupies space.