What survives is the eastern end of a rectangular structure, its rubble foundations running to roughly six metres in length and standing on a low plinth about a metre high. The rest of the building has vanished into the landscape, leaving a partial footprint that requires some imagination to read, but rewards the effort.

The graveyard itself is a neat rectangle, measuring roughly fifty metres on its longer axis and thirty on the shorter, set on a gentle east-facing slope. Its boundary is an earthen bank with drystone facing, a technique in which stones are laid without mortar to stabilise or clad an earthen core, giving the enclosure a solid, deliberate edge that has clearly held its shape across several centuries. Entry is through a southwest-facing gap between granite pillars, just wide enough for a person or a small handcart. The church remains occupy the northeast corner of the enclosure, and tucked within those ruins are a number of eighteenth-century headstones. The combination is quietly disorienting: the graves have outlasted the building that presumably gave them their context, and the headstones now shelter among the very walls that predate them.

The site sits unobtrusively in the Wicklow landscape, and there is little to signal it from a distance beyond the low profile of the enclosing bank. Visitors who do find their way here should look closely at the surviving eastern wall section, where the distinction between the rubble foundation courses and the plinth beneath them is still legible. The granite entrance pillars are also worth a pause; granite is the characteristic building stone of this part of Wicklow, and their placement here reflects both local geology and a certain formality of intention, even for a modest rural site.