The Lot (Leviticus 16:5-22)

 

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The crimson thread between his horns,
He stands at the gate and waits, his brother’s blood
Staining the air sweet.

He wonders how a small goat like him
Can bear the congregate sins of twelve tribes,
when it takes a large strong bullock
to atone for the priest.

And why it is he who is doomed to walk
into the desert, his head as heavy
As his heart, and what it is he must do
To procure forgiveness for that people.

And how he will find and turn Azazel
So they might both come back into the fold

And be treasured and loved again.

How much wilderness must he endure,
How much cold and how much darkness,

Erring among bramble and stone.
And how much being alone.