If I wrote this in Tijuana 20 years ago would I remember

Navigate long dark hallyway of monastic 15th century
labyrinth
              I’m looking for the alcove where they
keep the vending machines
There are various pelicans & cormorants in dark
robes assembled speaking to one another in hushed tones
as though sifting through reflections in a broken mirror
I lean out over the stone window ledge gazing down upon
the ocean
                              all tangled in conflicting tides all wrong
the waves all broken all gray-blue green
                                                with foam folded into every corner
(but then I may have been looking at the sky)
              The wind kicks up it’s cold this is the day I died
an eye-of-pelican sky glimmering above