i.m. Alan Sullivan I. Burial at Sea Two thousand miles south of our frozen orchard the boat we hired, a forty foot Tiara, threaded the maze of channels from Las Olas, bearing a box of ashes and your mourners. Fathers Patrick O’Shea and Tom O’Dwyer, our Irish shepherds from The Little Flower, read from St John (not Paul, they showed you mercy!) to bury you at sea. The rite was Roman. Singing the Navy Hymn, my voice, not breaking, easily drowned the thrum of diesel engines pinning us to the wind. Your wreath was orchids. I walk a jet ramp,…