Delta, my thoughts! Waterfowl, old ambivalent eye, babe—on the Amtrak, such adictum! Issue came up in conversation between the usual engineer and the new manshe was guiding (she at his elbow), apparently the boy’s first time along the Strait,sticky issue rose up, not to do with whether the drawbridge ahead is protected butby whom—railroad authority? bridge authority?—and thinking what, babe? Talk,about the ideas. (Cab control car operation on the southbound, passengers allowedto sit within hearing.) An impasse, the embargo, some traffic. Go read ahead andfail because it’s just how the trains go. Think ahead then think again. Water too.                                                                                                     (Passenger journal, visitor from Ithaca.)Color—map of the pronouns—says cross me, babe. Write me, babe, so say myeyes. Trivial Amtrak. Knock down the signal. Hate thinking about the dictum.Save me, Black Maria, I’m the waterman’s child, terror of spilled water having itsmerry way’s my pronounced descent. (Hate the stink of thought.) Issue me on thebridge, babe—take your turn. One girl driver—seen thus far—on all of AmtrakCalifornia. There’s the osprey with that mask, and there go your cormorants and thegrebes, babe, your squads of black ducks like a bridge of boats. Say it on the way,out loud, smell it. Think about something else. The new man—freight engineer,Caucasian like the driver but new to passenger service—just a godless boy at thecontrols. Don’t think about it. Take wing. I think this music is sour, I think thismusic has lost its way. I think this is a characteristic of the territory. (But on thebluffs above the Strait it’s the white-tailed kite holds sway.) Martinez Sub crossesthe bridge but the other track follows the Strait on out the Delta. Mistake’s notshaping the experiential with narrative skills. Boy oh boy. Seems like it’s one Negrodriver—wiry boy—on all the trains of Amtrak California. No history here, babe,it’s just a feral stride over the territory—how do you know before you cross, babe?Protect me, Yellow Mama. Delta, dictum—stick with the train. How, do youthink? Diesel pushing ahead up the Strait from the back, like a devil. Water movesevery which way. Control’s remote. How do you know—on the train—so far?