a variety of things fall down under the dark of trees いろいろなものおちてくる木下闇a baby spider climbs up along my trousers’ crease 蜘蛛の子の服の折目をかけあがるin a house where nobody comes a mackerel sky たれもこぬ栖家にねむり鰯雲morning glory's seeds all black I shut the big door まつくろな朝顔の種大戸閉づwhenever I squeeze a citron I'm at twilight 青柚子を絞ればいつもたそがるる
(All of the above haiku first appeared in Toru Kiuchi, Hanazuou [Sappan] Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1997).
I love the morning glory haiku, the contrast between the tiny seeds in which the future morning glories are shut, and the bog door, which seems to me the door of autumn, and/or between lift and death. Seeds are always opportunities, shutting the door is closing off an opportunity.
I also love the citron haiku — so simple yet very evocative. The first haiku of this set is quite tantalizing, for I wonder just what kinds of things are falling out of the trees, or under the trees. I hope you continue to write haiku! I would very much like to read more of your work! Thankyou!