Bunkhouse Sink

There is a pattern of green and rust
that has followed this trickle of water
for centuries
from the cold metal tap
down the once iron pipe
under the random width pine flooring
through the sandy layers of island
out the side of the great cliffs
down the ravines
which were carved by wild Nor’easters
over the singing pebble beach
and back to the ocean
from whence it came.

I have tried to fix the dripping.
Why bother.