This little joint, this lock, this coming together of things. Two molded into one with effort-packed precision. Different planks entirely, different colors, different grains...different families of wood even. But they come together to make the box. The jewelry box. The box that holds the treasure...the goodness...the truth.
No dovetail, no box. No dovetail, just two pieces of wood, as far apart as they ever were. Two pieces of wood, cut and carved, shaved and sanded down by the Craftsman. All the hard sanding down. It seems sometimes like the sanding down is all that happens. But then, the one piece is pushed against and then into and then with the other. It sinks in that the sanding was shaping.
The dove...tail. Is it the dove or the tail that is more descriptive? For the wood, it seems to be the tail, but for the rest of things, it must only be the dove.