A few low rock outcrops breaking through the turf are the only physical candidates for the church's former presence, and no architectural fragments, carved stonework, or structural remains have ever been identified. What survives, essentially, is the memory of a place rather than the place itself.

When the antiquarian John O'Donovan visited in 1840 and noted his observations, later published in O'Flanagan's 1930 edition of the Ordnance Survey letters, he described the graveyard as already effaced, its outlines gone. The first edition Ordnance Survey six-inch map, produced in the mid-nineteenth century, still recorded the site, marking it as an oval enclosure, the shape that typically betrays an early ecclesiastical origin in the Irish landscape. Oval or sub-circular churchyard enclosures of this kind are often associated with early medieval foundations, where the boundary of the sacred ground was established long before any substantial building work. By O'Donovan's time, even that boundary had disappeared. A further enclosure lies some 360 metres to the east, and the traces of an old disused road survive two fields beyond the graveyard in the same direction, lending the area a faint suggestion of a former pattern of movement and settlement that has otherwise been thoroughly erased.

The site sits on open grassland with long views to the north and west, higher ground rising behind it to the south and east. There is nothing to see in the conventional sense, which is precisely what makes it worth thinking about: a place that persists in local memory and on historic maps, but has left the land itself almost entirely unmarked.