No walls, no grave markers, no grassed-over humps in a field to hint at what once stood there. The site has vanished not simply through the slow attrition of centuries, but because its stones were deliberately taken and put to use elsewhere.

When Bowman surveyed the area in 1934, he recorded both the church and an associated burial ground situated within a ringfort, the circular earthwork enclosure that was the standard unit of rural settlement in early medieval Ireland. That combination, a Christian site occupying or abutting an older ringfort, was not unusual in Ireland; the Church frequently absorbed or annexed pre-existing sacred and domestic spaces. What makes Lismire quietly striking is what happened to the physical fabric of the church after it fell out of use. Its stones were repurposed to build a lime kiln set against the western bank of the ringfort. A lime kiln was a functional agricultural structure used to burn limestone and produce quicklime for fertilising fields or mortaring buildings, and this one was built at the direct expense of the church that had once stood nearby. By the time Bowman arrived to document it, the kiln was there and the church was not. Today, even the kiln's precise relationship to the landscape is a matter of record rather than of visible evidence, with no surface trace remaining of either the church or the burial ground.