What makes the site quietly arresting is not the ruin itself but the cluster of things gathered around it: a children's burial ground to its east, the fallen outline of another building just to the northwest, and a holy well roughly seventy-five metres further in the same direction. Taken together, they suggest a small, self-contained sacred landscape that once served a community in ways that went well beyond Sunday worship.

The church is a rectangular structure, roughly ten metres long and just over four metres wide internally. The walls were built in a technique common to early Irish ecclesiastical architecture, with inner and outer stone faces packed around a rubble core and laid without mortar. Most of this has now collapsed, though short sections still stand: a fragment at the western end of the north wall rises to about eighty centimetres on its exterior face, and the eastern gable line survives to a similar modest height. A gap of about seventy centimetres at the eastern end of the south wall is most likely the original entrance. The interior is choked with fallen stone. The church was already recorded on the 1915 edition of the Ordnance Survey six-inch maps, though the site is considerably older than that cartographic appearance implies. The children's burial ground it borders, known in Irish tradition as a cillín, was a place set aside for the burial of unbaptised infants and others excluded from consecrated ground, a practice that persisted in rural Ireland well into the twentieth century.

The site lies along a heavily overgrown southern edge, and the vegetation makes close inspection difficult. The holy well to the west-northwest would once have been an integral part of whatever devotional life centred here, and such wells in Clare are often still visited, even when the surrounding structures have long since fallen silent.