Half-Scarf

It lives under the couch,

a gray-blue tangle, almost done.

I found it there, a half-spun

thought, the needles still stuck in.

A winter thing,

a promise of warmth for no one.

I pulled it out again,

this time for good, I said.

Unfurled the stiff, cold wool,

felt the rough loop.

Then saw the snag,

a loose thread, thin as a nerve.

I gave a sigh,

and let it swerve

back to its dust-lined keep.

Another season for it to sleep.