Lahaina went up in flames; Altadena, Paradise flamed up. I contemplate the fire. The loss. The erasure of one’s place in space and time. The house is ashes, the neighborhood, rubble. The foundation, a space we belong in, gone. Things of memory, things with slight monetary value, nicked, chipped, crumpled, faded—are reduced to undifferentiated gray ash. We float free, like smoke. Do we still exist?