Time usually passes without memory; but, as Alan Lightman points out in his monograph on the Theory of Relativity, there are two types of time, one rigid and mechanical that, like a pendulum, swings imperturbably back and forth and another corporeal, which twists and slips away like a fish in a bay. The first is inflexible and predetermined. The second is shaping the minds as it progresses. The poems in Einstein's Dream revolve around this second possibility, as scattered fragments of a mosaic that narrates the initiatory journey to and from the universe of childhood. By joining together they build a story where the different temporalities coexist, without elegy or nostalgia, in the only space of the here and now of the present.