The ash has stopped falling. During the conflagration, I swept My patio repeatedly, pushing Ash and soot to the side, Only to have the winds rise And deposit another layer. The local fires have abated, And the ash no longer drifts slowly Earthward, lift by the inferno Towards heaven, and then to Settle slowly down. All those hard earned goods Fire consumed: roofs, walls, Girders, balconies, garages. Beds, sofas, pianos. Well tailored suits and favored t-shirts Turned into soot and ash, the ash Blown away, to the beach, the sea, Into the backyards of not too distant Neighbors, who swept their Patios and deposited the ash Into the ash-heaps.