She tries on men like a summer dress Inspects the fit, the color, the silky fabric “It scratches like that one I had last year” She loves the feel of a new dress. The excitement, the way she looks at dinner How it brings out the color of her eyes. They are always special at first, she thinks. But the second and third wearing It starts to become Just another dress. Her closet is full, the colors reflect her memories: The concert in Cologne, the opera in Vienna A performance here, a recital there. On each dress is written a symphony The notes emblazoned on the fabric Never to be played again Her men are her performances Infused with passion, tempered with distance The growing flame must be drenched Before it consumes her art and her life. The past must be altered Lest she play that piece again.