By miscalculation
i leave the fly off the tent
and predawn dew settles
on our noses like a June slushie
My five-year-old granddaughter
gets up and helps me fumble
in the dark to set the fly atop 
our damp domicile  
We see the slice
of waning Moon and
bright Jupiter in the southeast,
easier for her to recognize than
dim Polaris from the night before

Jupiter has more than fifty moons
I tell her; dont go ‘overboard”
she says, I can only see our moon
and I know it’s not made of cheese