Roughly two metres long and slightly over a metre wide, its interior sits lower than the surrounding ground surface, which has led archaeologists to suggest it may have served as a latrine. It is not the kind of detail that tends to appear in accounts of medieval ecclesiastical sites, yet it survives here in outline, pressed into the earth beside a church that has otherwise lost almost everything that once distinguished it.

The church itself is a rectangular structure oriented east to west, around sixteen metres long and nine metres wide, which was the standard alignment for early Christian and medieval churches in Ireland, with the altar end facing east towards Jerusalem. The walls have collapsed to little more than their lower courses, standing at most one and a half metres high, and no doorways, windows, or other architectural details remain legible. The whole sits within an L-shaped graveyard on an area of outcropping rock, heavily overgrown, the stonework blending back into the landscape. Alongside the church, the grassed-over foundation lines of a separate rectangular building are still traceable, complete with that curious sunken annexe at its north-east corner. Two simple stone-lined graves have been identified within the interior of this secondary structure. A cross is recorded as associated with the site, and roughly 755 metres to the south-south-east stands a hall-house, the kind of first-floor stone residence favoured by Anglo-Norman lords in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, which places Kilskeagh within a broader landscape of medieval settlement and landholding. O'Flanagan noted the site as early as 1927, though the picture it presents has not grown much clearer since.

The site is deeply unassuming to look at. There are no standing features to orient a visitor, and the vegetation has done considerable work in softening and obscuring what little masonry remains. What rewards attention here is the accumulation of small details: the faint logic of the building plan still readable in the turf, the proximity of the hall-house suggesting a community of some complexity, and the odd intimacy of two stone-lined graves set within what may once have been a domestic outbuilding.