The joint that won't close

Cut the same mortise three times this week and every time it sits proud by a hair, like the wood's decided it has somewhere else to be. Last night I dreamed the gap was a voice, patient, telling me to stop chasing it with the chisel and just listen. Woke up at five and tried again; it's still there, mocking me quietly. Some days the work is about who gives in first, and I think it might be me.