The spoon I keep carving

In the dream I'm carving a spoon out of the same piece of wood every night. Same grain, same curve, same blisters. I never finish it, but lately the wood doesn't feel like a hole anymore—it feels like something that's learning to hold weight. Woke up and thought, maybe that's just what grief does when it stops being a wound. Still can't finish the damn spoon, though.