Near Miss

When your orbit is complete,
you circle away once more,
out into the distant dark where nothing
awaits your passage.  Some unknown
astrologer on a planet never
seen or dreamed of may catch
a glimpse of you, silent,
your shadow obscuring a constellation's foot.

And my tides return to normal,
the dogs stop twitching and the weather
storms itself out and moves on.
But the tree rings this year
will be thinner, faint,
and the glaciers will hold a brownish memory
of hard times, mud and sudden melts.

Maybe you still make planets heave
with your implacable gravity,
and you have rings of ice to protect you,
but when we pass again, I promise,
you will be the one ignored.