There are hundreds of steps
thousands?
From the parking lot to the front door of my work
each day,
routine, and therefore uncounted
A parade of strangers walks in front of me
or beside me
the clipped sounds of so many heels
Fragrances, familiar and obscure
some eyes averted, others bright as jewelry
None of them yours
There are hundreds of steps
millions?
From the front door of my work to the parking lot
each day,
while yours are still
unaccounted for