The poetry published is complementary to the science that surrounds its pages. Both are ways of exploring the complexity and experience of pulmonary disease. Neither is competitive with, nor antagonistic of, the other. If science is about what can be empirically observed, poetry is about what can be phenomenologically felt; it helps make conscious the unconscious. Poetry, like science, is a decoder of what otherwise appears as mystery, a seeker of truth, a way of understanding. It deals with and in abstractions, just as physicians do with concepts like dyspnea, fatigue, or malaise, for example. The coupling of these two domains extends even to structure: the rhythmicity so fundamental to poetry mirrors biological and physical life such as heart beats, breathing, tides, seasons, diurnality. And it extends also to language, for physicians, like poets, are interpreters of (patient) language, its nuance, and yes, its camouflage.