One of mine is Miller Williams' Shrinking Lonesome Sestina.

  The Shrinking Lonesome Sestina

  Somewhere in everyone's head something points toward home,
  a dashboard's floating compass, turning all the time
  to keep from turning. It doesn't matter how we come
  to be wherever we are, someplace where nothing goes
  the way it went once, where nothing holds fast
  to where it belongs, or what you've risen or fallen to.

  What the bubble always points to,
  whether we notice it or not, is home.
  It may be true that if you move fast
  everything fades away, that given time
  and noise enough, every memory goes
  into the blackness, and if new ones come-

  small, mole-like memories that come
  to live in the furry dark-they, too,
  curl up and die. But Carol goes
  to high school now. John works at home
  what days he can to spend some time
  with Sue and the kids. He drives too fast.

  Ellen won't eat her breakfast.
  Your sister was going to come
  but didn't have the time.
  Some mornings at one or two
  or three I want you home
  a lot, but then it goes.

  It all goes.
  Hold on fast
  to thoughts of home
  when they come.
  They're going to
  less with time.

  Time
  goes
  too
  fast.
  Come
  home.

  Forgive me that. One time it wasn't fast.
  A myth goes that when the years come
  then you will, too. Me, I'll still be home.

shameless tags nowaypablo humanodon lil

I know I'm missing a LOT of poetry-inclined people with my tags. I'm sorry. Bad ref.