There was
all ways the myth
of the beginning

in her, that was
un-named and known
as force of making, Matrix

and in that mystery,
found, burdened, measured
then lost in the fool

that was man. The
scent of the beginning
drifted away, yet remains

[ p e r f u m e ]

in the sentience of those
that sight, tongue, grasp,
hear(d), fragran(ced) that

beginning when she
was known the heroine,
maker of one

thousand(s) names.
She calls back, in you.
You vocalize that

long heard call, the myth
maker and spellbinder
of arachnid telling

[web woven to the center]

drawing me and others
near, as I go in
there, to the cavern

of your making. Back to her,
back to you, back to
the heart that

I’d forgotten, now that
is found.
Anew, song sung.

In celebration of the telling,
the retelling, the recalling
the re-minding: Isabel Allende

TED | 2007