Rather than the usual rough rectangle, the enclosure is a raised D-shape, defined by a tree-covered earthen bank that stands about two metres high on its outer face and encloses a roughly circular space some 35 metres across. That kind of raised, curvilinear graveyard is often a signal of considerable antiquity, the earthwork predating the church it now surrounds and possibly pointing to an early medieval ecclesiastical site.

The church itself is a two-cell structure of nave and chancel, built from mortared shale, quartz and conglomerate, with walls still standing to around three metres in places. The chancel arch, 2.4 metres wide and formed of uncut stone, is pointed rather than rounded, and the chancel walls are notably not bonded to the nave, suggesting the two sections were built at different times or by different hands. Single plain window openings survive in the north walls of both nave and chancel; the original west entrance has been lost entirely. About 130 metres to the south-east, on the far side of a small stream, lies St Columb's Well, a natural spring. The antiquarian John O'Donovan, writing around 1840, recorded that a pattern, the traditional Irish gathering of prayer and communal ritual held at a holy well on a saint's feast day, took place there each year on the 9th of June, the feast of St Columba. The well and the ruined church together suggest a devotional landscape that was, for centuries, organised around this particular day in early summer.

The graveyard remains in use, and the ruins sit quietly within it on a gentle east-facing slope. The small stream to the east is easy to cross, and the well lies just beyond it to the south-east, largely unmarked but findable if you know to look on the other side of the water.