Poems open. Poems open up the healing. Call attention to the gap, the wordless thing. Speak the space. What isn’t a poem? What isn’t a poem is also a poem. A poem goes beyond the boundaries of its lines. Reaches into the blank space, calls out to the mind, asks to be opened up like a thought—part image, part memory. Like thought, it forms its own syntax. It doesn’t understand itself. It can’t be completely understood. It wants to say more than it does, and it does. It bridges. It binds. It casts. It resists its catch.