Sestina

I just read an article on JSTOR by Tahita Fulkerson about Eliot's sestina in Dry Salvages at the beginning of section II. She cites the Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics, calling the sestina the "most complicated of . . . verse forms."
Here is a link to the article:
http://www.jstor.org/stable/25111675

Via wiki: "A sestina (also, sextina, sestine, or sextain) is a highly structured poem consisting of six six-line stanzas followed by a tercet (called its envoy or tornada), for a total of thirty-nine lines. The same set of six words ends the lines of each of the six-line stanzas, but in a different order each time."

However, Eliot seems to stray from the traditional sestina because he completely omits the tercet at the end. He also does not change the order of the ending words of each line. Rather, he maintains the order, 123456, but slightly modifies the word that ends each line.
For example, the first stanza's first line ends with the word wailing; the second stanza's first line ends with trailing. Upon reaching the first line of the sixth stanza, Eliot brings us full circle back to the word wailing.

Here are the cycles of the last words of each of the six stanzas:
1st line: wailing, trailing, failing, sailing, bailing, wailing
2nd: flowers, hours, powers, cowers, lowers, flowers
3rd: motionless, emotionles, devotionless, oceanless, erosionless, motionless
4th: wreckage, breakage, leakage, wastage, dockage, wreckage
5th: unprayable, reliable, undeniable, liable, unpayable, prayable
6th: annunciation, renunciation, annunciation, destination, examination, Annunciation.

Where is there an end of it, the soundless wailing,
The silent withering of autumn flowers
Dropping their petals and remaining motionless;
Where is there an end to the drifting wreckage,
The prayer of the bone on the beach, the unprayable
Prayer at the calamitous annunciation?

There is no end, but addition: the trailing
Consequence of further days and hours,
While emotion takes to itself the emotionless
Years of living among the breakage
Of what was believed in as the most reliable—
And therefore the fittest for renunciation.

There is the final addition, the failing
Pride or resentment at failing powers,
The unattached devotion which might pass for devotionless,
In a drifting boat with a slow leakage,
The silent listening to the undeniable
Clamour of the bell of the last annunciation.

Where is the end of them, the fisherman sailing
Into the wind's tail, where the fog cowers?
We cannot think of a time that is oceanless
Or of an ocean not littered with wastage
Or of a future that is not liable
Like the past, to have no destination.

We have to think of them as forever bailing,
Setting and hauling, while the North East lowers
Over shallow banks unchanging and erosionless
Or drawing their money, drying sails at dockage;
Not as making a trip that will be unpayable
For a haul that will not bear examination.

There is no end of it, the voiceless wailing,
No end to the withering of withered flowers,
To the movement of pain that is painless and motionless,
To the drift of the sea and the drifting wreckage,
The bone's prayer to Death its God. Only the hardly, barely prayable
Prayer of the one Annunciation.