Copal Dreams

It was the copal.
It choked and clouded,
danced across the stage
and curled up the aisle.
It got me. Drove me
up and outward
into the cool night
plaza
where women sold 
pastel de zanahoria,
still hot from the oven,
glazed with pineapple
thick and chewy,
that caught
the musk of copal ,
took it prisoner, vanished
down my throat, hot coffee
washing them both
away like
the fragile dancers––
flying on bent legs
trying to move smoothly,
fanning their winged arms
like monarch butterflies
destined too soon
to fall.