CATALOG
Songs and Song Cycles
Compositions are arranged alphabetically by title within each category. Click on each title for audio previews, texts, score samples, reviews, past performances, commissioning ensembles and more.
Sprung from the leap and the croup of a glassware ephemeral
flowering no bitter vigil the neck forgotten stops...
Holy Divine, to me you are water, the force that connects all living things.
You flow free and with purpose, and your direction is our guide...
It is dawn for one last time, my friends, and the light that leads away
from you is very beautiful. We have lived near one another for so long.
There is nothing I need, and at long last there is nothing I fear...
Child the day is over
darkness has swallowed the path
Let us sleep.
Of women, I am poetry, sun beyond metaphor, at night
the pole star. And morning rises with my unfolding.
Oh, my lover sings with more cunning, even, than he reasons.
Who does not know my name?
In the shaft of the afternoon, Heloise, a child upon her pallet, curves
into a bell. As insects drone, light glides along the wall and lures her
with warm entwining…
I confess you made night glorious day, and each dawn
I left your bed was dark falling…
The Grecian landscape I would tend is frozen white...no wild roses
where they ought to be nor trumpet flowers on the vine... my spring
to summer child that was of so much promise, now to the bone,
pale and dying a’lay its mother’s frosted arms...
I have made a footprint, a sacred one. I have made a footprint, through
it the blades push upward. I have made a footprint, through it the blades
radiate. I have made a footprint, over it blades float in the wind…
Don’t let me fall as a stone falls upon the hard ground. And don't
let my hands become dry as the twigs of a tree when the wind
beats down the last leaves.
Where the pane enshrines the old sandalwood growing tarnished
of her viol that sparkled with the flute and lute long vanished...
Even the man who is happy glimpses something, or a hair of sound
touches him, and his heart overflows with a longing he does not
recognize…
Thou hearest the Nightingale begin the Song of Spring; the Lark sitting upon his earthy bed: just as the morn appears; listens silent; then springing from the waving Corn-field! loud. He leads the Choir of Day! trill trill trill, trill…
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame; as tumbled over rim in roundy wells stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s bow
swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name…
Spread open like a field so beautiful - the indigo rooftop of the night
So filled with love…so close! So close… With its repeated stars scattered
over the untroubled dark like sparks of laughter, flying in the warmth of
togetherness after separation…
I sit outside your door on the slate-blue step and hear you inside
move and breathe and blow out the candle...
'The Sun has left his blackness, and has found a fresher morning
And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night;
For Empire is no more, and now the Lion & Wolf shall cease."
The darkness drops again; but now I know that twenty centuries of stony
sleep were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, and what rough beast,
its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?