Dutchman’s Hole 

Look, listen!
At the end of Hubbard Creek, 
where the county highway halts
and Peterbilt trucks jake brake 
felled Douglas firs across sharp corners. 
A stream babbles along two miles 
of logging roads, boring deep 
into the crumbling Callahans; 
salmon slip into shady pools, 
spawning beneath silent beaver dams.
Look, listen! 
There—where the waterfall crashes 
into a cold, dark pool, 
and a little boy coaxes his gullible 
cousin into “the hot springs”—
their lean frames leap from the rocks 
in sneaks stitched together with duct tape.
Cracked blue lips shivering 
in the hottest sun of the summer— 
smiling with smooth skipping rocks
and arrowheads carved by Umpqua hands.