Prizewinning Incomprehensible Poem

You are as surprised as the poet. Your mouth an O, mimicking the curve of her mouth’s small o as she reads, her head a moonrise above the mic. She never says slop bucket, shift, or winter. She never says hair, groan, or rinse water. Silver she says twice. Glass, four times. Water can be mended, she insists, smiling. Her mouth almost a U, but not quite. Your mouth, a line, an em dash. When she says just one more, fold your arms, nod, and whisper yes.