Sand(y)storm from Sandman

Sleepily, lacking sleep, what is that Japanese word for trying to wake and not being able to?  That was my state on Sunday last.  Sandman had not yet let go of my hand when I entered the sandstorm, or the insan(e)dstorm which was called Sandy and defined as a hurricane.  She blew in from the coast for a quick visit, liked the city and stayed, finally leaving with not so much as an adieu, with much to be done in her wake.  Her vision still hangs like a pall over many lives, lost lives, lost homes.  And still I am dreaming.  Am I not?  Otherwise, how can it be that when I look out the door trees still bear their leaves yet nearby lies the lost city of Atlantis, underwater, out of breath and out of time.  Sparks exploded in the air taking away what we take for granted.   Light, by any other name would smell as sweet.  She came, she wept copious tears in gusts of fury and left, taking with her a part of us, leaving behind her refuse without pity.  Ah Sandy, such a woman as you must be protected against and yet, though our defenses were up, you breached the barriers and emptied our pockets.  Wicked were you in the taking.  Not to be forgotten, even in the forgetting.  I close one blind eye and reach for my spyglass to see where you have gone and where you have left us.  In the space between.