I dreamt of a broken bird that couldn't fly left by a child in a box of grass and found years later making the same lost sound so it seemed a miracle that it didn't die. I dreamt of someone clutched around a pain that wouldn't go away, a wound, an injury that put on layers, grew outwards like a tree until it seemed impossible to contain within a body's span. I saw the bird still try to move, still pulsing desperately in the sheltering place constructed for its safety by that well meaning child. I saw the hard growth round the tender wound. It took no art to see my dream was all about the heart.