It measures roughly 2.7 metres north to south and about 1.5 metres east to west, rising to a modest 0.7 metres in height. Its western side is formed by a natural sheet of bedrock, its northern edge by a single stone set upright on its edge, and its southern end by two stones arranged to carry a lintel. The eastern side disappears under heaps of loose rubble, with no set stones visible beneath. What makes it quietly puzzling is not any grandeur but its very ordinariness and the complete absence of answers about what it once was.

An inspection carried out in 1994 by E. Cody ruled out the most tempting explanation, that this might be the remains of a megalithic tomb, the kind of prehistoric burial monument, usually built from large upright stones capped by a capstone, that appears in considerable numbers across the west of Ireland. The structure appears to have been built on top of the ground rather than sunk into it, which sets it apart from most ancient construction. Beyond that, the evidence simply runs out. Its date is unknown, its function is unknown, and those who have examined it have concluded that there is not enough to suggest it belongs to any particular period of history, remote or recent. The surrounding landscape of broken limestone pasture, karst terrain being that characteristic pitted and fissured limestone country so familiar across north Connacht, offers no obvious clues either.

What remains is an unresolved thing sitting in a field; a modest arrangement of stone and bedrock that has survived long enough to be recorded, examined, and ultimately left as a question mark. The site resists the categories that usually make old structures legible, and that resistance is, in its own quiet way, the most interesting thing about it.