There are the wild-hair ones
Ones with glasses, the pipe, the violin
Riding that bicycle (with cast shadow)
The posed hand to the chalkboard
And posed seated with hands clasped
The madcap tongue photo
On the beach (in trunks not hat)
The aged and worn math genius
The youthful man looking a bit like Poe
Or later in Bern like Sellers as Clouseau
With cousin/bride Elsa (in her hat)
The official 1921 Nobel portraits
Accepting a U.S. citizenship certificate
The 'Dead at 76' headline head shot
His brain, stolen from the Smithsonian
But the telling image for me
Is Einstein standing in his study
Books askew on the shelves
The desk a mound of paperwork
His finger and thumb to his chin
Musing as if he'd misplaced a pen
In the chaos of text and symbol
Or lost a phrase of pure physics
Perhaps momentarily
Perhaps from a misconnection
In the all-fired synaptic unity
Of his complicated memory field
He seems most human then
Most at peace in a universe
He reimagined