Why I Dream in Maps

Wish-fulfillment is, perhaps,
The reason why I dream in maps.
In ten-league paces, long and crude,
I vault o’er lines of longitude
And, fleeing from the east wind’s moans,
Small islands are but stepping stones
By which I cross the ocean deep
Without the need for fevered leap.
I skirt the continental shelf
With but a pause to bless myself.
Colossus that bestrides the earth,
I’ve minimised the planet’s girth.
A puny wretch by day, it seems,
A giant nightly in my dreams.