Garden Crimes

Here I am.
Here am I.
I hear A.M.:
The fizzle-crack
Of sunlight bursting
Seeds in the soil
Of these sleep-thick eyes.
I am here.
I am here.
Here, ami,
Tend my roots with your trowel-blade.
But nick no worms--
They are innocent.
Ah, me, here
Is the gavel-truth:
These flagstones are a penance.
The moss on my lips the bailiff.
I am here-
by sentenced, juried by worms
And judged by blossoms
Bursting from my flesh.