That fact alone is worth pausing over. The channel is long gone, leaving no trace above ground, yet the graveyard it skirted still sits near the foot of the Dublin Mountains, its roughly oval shape, the kind of form often associated with early ecclesiastical enclosures, quietly persisting at the suburban fringe of a city that has largely grown up around and past it.

The site carries a number of details that anchor it to specific moments in the documentary and archaeological record. A narrow granite graveslab, measuring 0.90 metres high, 0.52 metres wide, and 0.32 metres thick, survives in the graveyard to the south-east of where the church once stood. It bears a plain cross in high relief, a form typical of early medieval commemorative stonework in Ireland. W. E. H. Handcock noted it in 1877, and F. E. Ball returned to the broader site in 1905, recording that no structural remains of the church were visible above ground. The medieval watercourse running along the southern boundary, a managed channel that fed into Dublin city's water supply during the medieval period, is catalogued separately in the archaeological record but is understood to have been a defining feature of the landscape here.

The graveyard sits near the village of Templeogue, with a later cemetery extending to the west of the original enclosure. The oval boundary is the thing to look for on arrival, since the absence of upstanding church remains means the shape of the space itself becomes the primary evidence. The granite graveslab to the south-east of the former church position is small and easy to overlook, but its plain incised cross, rendered in high relief on pale stone, rewards a close look. There is no dramatic ruin to frame the visit, which is rather the point: what remains here is a layered arrangement of boundaries, water, and stone that has to be read against absence as much as presence.