If Bob Dylan drove down my street would he curse the dusty potholes and slow for dogs? Could his passenger be a gal he met when she was tending bar the night before? Woman from Amarillo who changed her name to Betty, rolling her own cigarettes with just one hand. He signals knowingly when he turns right onto Camino Sin Nombre. They see the same things as they steer through airy cottonwood down. The sound of the night falling will bring them to their senses, singing out loud. She will remind him how to swim. Excerpted from The Shape of Caught Water available from Red Mountain Press or directly from the author (505.670.4327) http://redmountainpress.us/