My six-year-old held the whole world in her hands.
It was flat, and grey dust magnetically clouded the possibilities.
Then the etch. An itch scratched by turn, turn, turn.
Two knobs drew an electrocardiogram.
Up, down, back, and forth revealed a heartbeat,
perhaps her own, perhaps Gods.
Maybe it was a blend of a dual rhythm.
Ka thump ka thump with each twist of finger and thumb.
Jesus sat with her and their laps shared the red framed square.
She turned the left circle and he the right.
The back and forth she twisted.
The up and down he turned.
They scraped off the grey in life lines.
They tilted their heads and touched temples.
Tongue tips hung on the side of their mouths.
They crossed paths again and again.
The sign of the cross, the line of the cross,
a paradox of the God-man with the child of God.
The vertical with the horizontal
became a peculiar perpendicular intersect.
Jesus took his hand off for a moment
and she flat-lined.
She took her hand off for a moment
and a heartbeat ascended straight up to Love.
They held hands and knobs
and were careful not to shake anything.