are the pebbles in the stream marked by time
is it sharp or soft
wet or dry
watery or grainy
swallow: perhaps my mind is the disc of the moon
the vitamin in the pantry, the reflection in the mirror
the hole where the lost key used to sit
smoke rings float with a bouncy swirl
into the night velvet black
plush blindness of sensing skin
maybe I forgot my lines
maybe my dreams are my fears
maybe you are my savior
oona's looking glass 
Good photograph; better poem. Part of what makes good poetry good is the freshness of language the poet finds.
swallow: perhaps my mind is the disc of the moon
the vitamin in the pantry, the reflection in the mirror
the hole where the lost key used to sit
This sequence of lines is fresh, looking at mind as the disc of the moon, vitamin in the pantry, reflection in the mirror the hole where the lost key used to sit. It bends our perception slightly and lets us look at the world anew.
The uncertainty in the final three lines, maybe… also works well. This is not an urban poem!
My surroundings so influence me and ultimately what I write.
Thank you for your valuable comment.
I am glad you left a comment on my blog, as I landed here and got to discover your lovely words.
Thank you! How nice to discover each other!