Sonnet Cathedral Poem by Granville Holt

Born a pheasant you dare sing without sound,
For restless symmetry you use silence,
No matter language or norms you astound
All rubes in cube of medieval sense.
The first lyric form sung by quiet read
As inner sanctum to yourself with gaze
Beyond mere Cosmos of Man, for you speed
Volumes past volta to escape blind maze.
Resurrected by would-be number worms
Who would unrhyme the Art of Eight on Six.
Your ancient harmony-embryo turns
Bold in creation --- your Phoenix matrix!

What some see as exoteric chance
You hold Sabbath by rune renaissance!