Einstein sits and thinks under the dark trees surrounding a white cottage — where no war came, even during the years when young men flooded out from this campus, cold from tap like the beer they’d drunk at the Tiger- town Inn just before their first induction. He stirs, but no amount of induction can help him explain how these knotty trees survived pen-knives, like claws of a tiger, incising the names of loves pre-war. A stick falls to the ground — a muffled tap returns his thoughts from trees to absent men. The ones who carved their names were…