I recognize that with them I usually have a great love for the first time and then I get tired. When I took Joxemari Iturralde's book it was spring, now I'm writing in summer.

Spring on fire. Almost a hundred haikus (Pamiela, 2021) is a nice reading. In these brushes, made with a technique widely used in our letters, we can produce cherries, nights, wells. Or quite philosophical poems, which are swallowed as pills: “The transfer time of the ash will be/will be wind”.

Among so many short ads, simplistic ideas and special effects, it is difficult to distinguish a topic today. The shores are full of them, some say the quote is for the vaccine, others say they eat the processed here or come to our phone company. Jimu Iturralde's haikus, meanwhile, leave a long taste to mouth, and read them: “It’s the diving boat/ bed in the evening.”

Like Shushia, placed inside and combined with it, Iturralde has managed not to get bored, above all, by hiding the mechanism that is often guessed into haiku books and leaving only the pleasure of the reader. If what is said comes in almost a hundred stanzas, the ones suggested here are the infinite sea remains, the smooth sonar image produced in our interior by words and the lack of words: “It’s a day if I have two/ with you/ two without you.” And you don't know exactly if time is shortened or extended, because it's the condemnation of haiku, and that sweetness, anecdote is infinity, provisionality is the ultimate truth. You can also make an epidermal milestone, but how beautiful it is in the style of Jimura, Magdalena or in the style of Igerabide. In recent times, our literature has given us beautiful small, loose pieces of the most current and unimaginable, for the enjoyment of the subconscious. Haiku can be tribialized or written: “A shuffle/ at the Mutriku/ Pier awaits you.” It's at the limit of brine, and again this piece flashes in this book, like other pieces. Spring, after all, ends at the moment when it becomes an abuse, and often comes back and ends, as it has another chance for imagination. That's the spring burning, the spring burning, a barrage of fire crossing the sky with junk.