A shrimp’s heart is in its head. It doesn’t need to mediate the space between heart and head. A shrimp doesn’t have to weigh the merits of the head’s logic against the heart’s instinct. The shrimp, with brain and heart so close, will not swoon in passion’s presence, nor overthink into the early dawn streaks of the sky, sleepless. The shrimp must sleep peacefully, head and heart unified, so enmeshed in the viscous goo beneath hard shell. If I could unite my head and heart, I might sleep too.