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They say they want you to catch the man in the moon,
So they have you lay back and unravel your braid
And look up.

“Tell us when you find him,”
they say,
and you promise that you will,
because you haven’t seen anyone else do otherwise.

You lay back and look up
And your hair spreads behind you like a net
And you wonder why they want to catch
The man in the moon.

As far as you are concerned,
There is no man in the moon,
But she does have long fingers of light that she pulls through your hair.
She twists it around in her hands,
And pulls strands of it together,
And her touch is gentle and warm.

Her hand over yours in the cool, clear water,
And you don’t tell anyone that you have found her,
Because she is not theirs and this isn’t what they asked for at all.



D.A. Vorobyov was born in Russia and grew up in the southern United States. His work can be found in Strange Horizons and Glittership. When they’re not writing, they can be found practicing fencing or playing video games.
Current Issue
12 May 2025

You saw her for the first time at your front door, like she wanted to sell you something or convert you. She had light hair and dark eyes, and she was wearing fatigues, which was the only way you knew that your panicked prayers of the last few minutes had not come true. “Don’t freak out,” she said. “I’m you. From—uh, let’s just say from the future. Can I come inside?”
Time will not return to you as it was.
The verdant hills they whispered of this man so apt to sin / chimney smoke was pure as mountain snow compared to him.
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