Too High in Waitrose Again

I would say it is more like a dance, as I move better
When I find rhythm, that being in health,
Beauty truth. I could always move
Quite fluidly, outwardly, even though recent events
Contradict me: I was empty.
But you should feel how graceful I am now,
Old friends: I am so in sync; I am listening
To Bookends; I hear ballerinas

Playing on my skin (those
Not here yet call them “shivers”) and I sometimes sprinkle half notes.
You must hear the music
Dogmatically without logic, as some dancers
Can force it on the poor, the angered, the reluctant,
The realists as they jig behind their trolleys, the angels.