Four is a magic number where
wickiups and tipis pepper
Ddsert cliffs under silver rimmed
clouds framing a milk white moon's brim
A fourth born son, Goyahkla, emerged
near the mouth of Gila River.
His mother, Juana, remembered
all her life, the night the stars fell.
One star fell close to Mother Earth,
trailing a bushy ermine's tail.
Many moons the maiden pondered
what Usen's sign that night revealed.
Bound tightly to a cradle board,
the happy babe grew straight and tall.
In games of skill the toddler shbot
lizards with small bow and arrow.
Five hundred miles the child ran
across the scorching desert sand,
training already begun for
this Bedonkohe Apache man.
At fourteen, when Tackleshim, his
father died, he became warrior
of his mother's rawhide tipi.
What more could falling stars portend?