Red men embraced | my body's whiteness,
cutting into me | carved it free,
sewed it tight | with sinews taken
from lightfoot deer | who leaped this stream—
now in my ghost-skin | they glide over clouds
at home in the fish's | fallen heaven.
Perhaps his PF page explains Carter Revard better than I can.
This's one of his poems in alliterative half-lines, spoken from an object's point of view—drawing on, among various other things, Old English traditions of first-person riddles.
I've transcribed this from How the Songs Come Down: New and Selected Poems (Cambridge, 2005), p. 13. Markdown doesn't accommodate the spacing usually used today for alliterative half-lines, and I don't know how to commit CSS crimes, so I've used a vertical bar for the caesurae.
When not writing interesting poetry, Revard did things like localising the scribe who copied London, British Library, Harley MS 2253, a book famous for its beautiful lyric poems.
I have another Revard poem to post, but it's a rather unsettling war piece, so I'm going to post it separately under a content warning.