I don’t know where to begin

I am afraid I might grow Eden
If I plant the seed of an apple tree
And a tulip,
A few blades of grass, 
Worms to feast on the dirt—
That my landscaping might grow so lush 
As to tempt the sin of mankind.

I am afraid I might terraform a mountain
With the sheer weight of my gravity—
Unearth dirt,
Mold it to molehill,
Stand up,
And watch the summit escape beyond me,
Swallowing Everest in its shadow.

I am afraid I might leave a chasm 
So wide in my swaths of solitude
That the cartographer
And the topographer
Both cast me as an ocean;
That despite Eden and my mountain,
I will be remembered like Atlantis.