What remains is a fragment: the south wall running for around 18.4 metres, and a portion of the west gable still standing to roughly 3.5 metres. The north wall has vanished entirely above ground, though a faint trace of its line survives where the soil is more compacted and scattered foundation stones suggest it once stood. Based on those traces, the building appears to have been around 8.7 metres wide externally, and records from 1840 put its full length at about 22.5 metres, its walls a metre thick and roughly three metres high at that time.

Those 1840 dimensions come from the Ordnance Survey Letters, a remarkable series of antiquarian field notes compiled by surveyors documenting monuments and place names across Ireland during the first large-scale mapping of the country. The letters, later published by Michael O'Flanagan, recorded that the west gable, south wall, and a short fragment of the north wall were still visible at the time of survey. Since then, the fabric has continued to diminish. The south wall still holds a pointed doorway, just under a metre wide, with a chamfered external edge, and directly beside it sits a displaced jambstone bearing convex and concave mouldings that almost certainly belonged to a matching doorway once set into the opposite, northern wall. A window that once pierced the south wall near the east end was already gone by 1840. The building is constructed throughout of roughly coursed limestone rubble, the kind of local material that was practical rather than decorative, and the graveyard in which it sits is roughly rectangular in plan.

Burials within the old church walls tell their own layered story. Two grave slabs of sixteenth or seventeenth-century date lie inside, one positioned just north of the east end of the south wall. Alongside them stand later eighteenth and early nineteenth-century headstones, and there is a nineteenth-century table-top tomb sitting directly on the line of the vanished north wall. A small curiosity: several of the drainage stones that once directed rainwater off the roof have been repurposed as grave markers, which gives some sense of how a working community managed a site long after its original function had ceased.