Sleepless

I'm a little iffy about putting this as my first post here, as I have several things I'd like to change. Or just scrap completely. But Mitch told me to get on it, so here it is. Ideas would be nice, because right now it a) goes no where and b) is more like a bunch of sentences than a poem.
Much love,
Sally


Sleep, I said sleep I said, you need to stop thinking all the time I said, sleep,

but instead I opened the window and
nearly slitting my wrist on the sill
stepped into the night (sky that we thought was black but
really white and grey with water
tiny shining drops reflecting thousands of city lights
glowing mockeries of the stars they hid)

I was suddenly standing in the rain,
surprised, I had not expected it.

When I lived much closer to the road,
the pounding music and trucks that rolled by at two in the morning
were my lullaby and ever since
the sound of traffic has made me calm.

Once, when I was small
and felt more alone than the last living thing
I waved at trash-collector man
as he stopped by the kerb
late night in the rain
He smiled and waved back.

I remember the incessant rain but more clearly
the unearthly beep of the trash truck
more like something you hear while you sleep
and remember years later,
the recollection welling up
and engulfing you with aching familiarity

(That's all you really need in life,
some one who smiles and waves back.)