It is all that remains of what was once a church, and the only way to read it now is in the faint geometry of its foundations, a few courses of stone poking a few centimetres above the turf, and a scatter of loose rubble across the eastern end.

The site has a quietly readable history, if you know where to look. The Ordnance Survey's six-inch map of 1842 recorded an L-shaped building here, which suggests the structure was still standing, or at least substantially intact, at the time the surveyors passed through. By 1938, when the OS revisited the area, it had been reduced to a ruined rectangular outline, measured at approximately fifteen metres east to west and six metres north to south. In the decades since, even that has softened further. What survives today is a rectangular mound rising to about two metres at its highest, with the ghost of a wall-line traceable along the west and north sides, and a lower, more fragmentary base still legible on the east. A crossing wall, roughly seventy centimetres wide and covered in sod, runs across the interior around seven metres from the western end. That internal division is one of the more intriguing details; it may indicate a chancel partition of the kind common in early Irish churches, where the nave and the chancel were separated by a wall rather than simply an open arch, though the surviving remains are too slight to say anything definite about the building's date or dedication.