A Falling In

My muse wears hues Ukrainian,
Bright auburn eyes, sienna skin.
Where jawline flows to flawless chin
Her slightest smile beguiles men.
Thus effortless was I drawn in,
Thus, stupefied, did toil begin.

Though, I confess, my eyes are weak,
Know this: even to fools like me
Mere pits of beauty prove no feat.
While miles wide they lie and wreak,
While sirens, songs employed, snag feet,
Perfumed edges are seldom deep.

So how, five months since first locked glance,
Do I remain so deep in trance?
Subtle this trap, no vast expanse,
Yet walls expand as I advance!
Or do I shrink beneath their slants?
To what depths have I plunged perchance?

Strange muse, I've heard her soft whisper
To no one in particular
Her utmost for His highest mirth,
Consistencies of soil and earth,
Intent to see the last made first.
Such myst'ry beats my heart for hers!

Therein my myst'ry is expelled,
That once into her first I fell
I fell with still no floor to tell
For beauty deep as Jacob's well.
I'll wrestle with my muse angel
Until she calls me Israel.