“The Heaven of Animals” by James L. Dickey
Here they are. The soft eyes open. If they have lived in a wood It is a wood. If they have lived on plains It is grass rolling Under their feet forever.
Having no souls, they have come, Anyway, beyond their knowing. Their instincts wholly bloom And they rise. The soft eyes open.
To match them, the landscape flowers, Outdoing, desperately Outdoing what is required: The richest wood, The deepest field.