poem: Where is the centre of this poem?

Man with Hat Made out of Stars by Sonja Barbaric

I should stop fooling around and just write!

Stars are printed onto the black and blue by an unruly God,

A God that doesn’t bleed out of a hole.

That love is a gorgeous sickness, elegant in its infection.

Beautiful in its onset

I love the fucking sight of you.

Yet I cannot bear this burden of motherhood

A baby, fat, smiling and stupid

Makes me unhappy

Rips my body into new horizons.

My shitty poetry,

Makes me feel brand new

Like a daisy in a field

Head roaring for the sun

Roots singing for water.

I have you and you

Editor in pink and blue.

60 years old, stunning and cruel.

“I’ll edit your work, so good the moon will sing a tune”

Pastor, tell me what is love

Love is the final coral reef you see after you finish drowning,

That’s love.