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.