Under her wing.

Something unfolds.

Is it a universe?

Is it a membrane stretched between bones?

Is it the moment everything began—

or the story we told ourselves about it?

Isl it an expansion of what always existed?

She is not something to believe in.

She is what remains

when belief starts to loosen.

Could she exist?

Why not?

Should you believe?

Why would you?

Can you question more?