What survives is a single stretch of roughly coursed limestone rubble, aligned east to west in the manner typical of early Irish ecclesiastical construction, running just 2.7 metres in length. At its southern end, a second stub of wall projects westward less than half a metre, hinting at a corner junction that has otherwise vanished entirely. The wall itself is just under a metre thick, solid enough to suggest a building of some permanence, but reduced now to a fragment sitting almost flush with the bedrock, which lies barely beneath the surface of the surrounding graveyard.

The setting compounds the strangeness of what remains. The church occupies a natural hillock in an area of limestone outcrop at the edge of a flat river valley, with the land dropping away to the north and north-west into rough pasture. The Thonoge River runs approximately 150 metres to the north-east. This kind of elevated, well-drained position on a rocky prominence near water is a pattern repeated across early medieval Irish church sites, where a slight rise above the valley floor offered both practical and symbolic advantages. The graveyard that surrounds the ruin is still present, and the church appears to have been placed roughly at its centre, which suggests the burial ground organised itself around the building and retained that orientation long after the structure itself had all but disappeared.