The heart aches for what the mind wants. Not smart enough, nowhere close to enlightened, a hungry snail who thinks himself a cat, always searching, always on the verge of something, unable to anticipate every variable unknown. In the end the heart takes him in, wraps him up in her boundless forgiveness knowing that puzzles are the opiate of the restless. She’s had the answers all along and reminds him as he twists and agonizes in his sleep until sunrise, when again he rides off toward the light, coat fully unbuttoned, searching for shadows on roads that lead him back to the beginning.