We whistled to the city from a hill. Nothing.
Yelled. Nothing. We turned around, tried to bounce
our voices off the mountains: the echoes
earned a small ribbon from a street fair.
We walked away from the city, stumbled,
upended a garbage can a town over.
A telegram came: congratulations
on the success of your work abroad!
We built a city of our own overseas,
libraries, contemporary art
museums, scale replicas of St. Paul’s,
Doric columns, monuments to ourselves.
The city sent official delegates,
keys, big scissors; asked us to go back home.