Alone in the desert, he waits.
What does he do between one Yom Kippur
and the next? Can he hear the goat coming, stumbling
across the bare rocks, heavy with misdeeds,
red ribbon trailing in the sand like blood
oozing from a wound?
And what of the goats from years past?
Did he take them in, save them from falling
or being pushed over the cliff?
Is there a tribe of them waiting too
for the new arrival?
At last the confused animal
stumbles out of the wilderness.
"There, there," Azazel says,
"Welcome. Unburden yourself.
Let me get some water
for you to drink."
Oh, this is beautiful.
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